If You're Real
by ticklethebeast
Summary: Jack is alive, and finds Rose two years later in the most desperate of situations. Can the two reconcile, or will there be a rift in their love forever?
1. Chapter 1

"If you're real, then why don't you kiss me?" she asked, eyes steely with anger and defiance.

"I won't, Rose. Not here. Not like this. I'm not going to start over with you like this."

Rose regarded him coolly for a few minutes, knees drawn into her chest on the chair by her boudoir, ash dropping silently from the tip of her cigarette onto the stained and scuffed wooden floor.

"Why are you here, Jack? Why now? Why didn't you look for me before if you still wanted me. For fuck's sake, I thought you were dead. I'm still not sure you're not a ghost, the way you just appeared in my room. If you're here for my services, then say so. If not, I demand to be paid for the time you've taken from other possible clientele."

Jack's eyes rose at her use of fowl language and the bitterness in her voice, but I he had to admit that he wasn't all that surprised, considering where they were, and what she was assumedly doing here. As he surveyed both her and their surroundings, he fought to keep bile from rising in his throat. The room was gaudy, furnished with painted faux gold and tatty furs, and was full of smells; tobacco smoke, cheap perfume, piss, and sex. Rose, his Rose, was nearly unrecognizable aside from her red curls, which had dulled considerably, and her wide stormy sea eyes. She was scantily clad. A sheer silk robe went down to only mid-thigh, and hung haphazardly open in the front revealing more than enough midriff and cleavage than he thought was necessary, even for this so called career. Black stockings adorned her legs, riddled with holes and runs, and held up by garter belts so worn with use that they almost didn't do their job. Rouge was smeared on her cheeks, hollowed out by not enough food, and probably too much drink, for too many years. Mascara lingered under her eyes and in thin trails down her face, and he reckoned that she had recently been crying, if that wasn't what she had been doing when he had first entered the tiny room. She wasn't herself, and yet he could still see his Rose underneath this threadbare disguise. He could still see a little fight left in her; a little fire smoldering just underneath the surface, and he intended to fight for it: to fight for her.

"I was dead," he said evenly. It hurt, even these two years later, to talk about the Titanic. "At least, I think I was, for a minute there. I remember holding onto your hand, just wishing on every star I could see that you would survive and go on. I remember the cold, and how it felt like it was trying to strangle my heart- trying to strangle the love right out of me, and I remember you calling my name, saying there was a boat, but I couldn't get my eyes to open. I couldn't move. My body wouldn't listen. I remember beginning to sink into that water, Rose, but then I heard a sound, like a bell, and somehow I swam toward it blindly. Someone told me later that that bell was a whistle, and that it had been a young redhead blowing it and I knew it had to have been you. I was unconscious when the boat picked me up, and I was told that you were too. It's no one's fault that we got separated. I didn't wake up until days after the Lusitania arrived in New York, and by then you had disappeared into the city."

Jack paused, and looked up, hoping to gain some insight into her thoughts, but he was met with just as stony an expression as she had worn previously, although he thought he saw a flicker of something pass through her eyes.

"I saw your name on the survivor list in the paper. Rose Dawson. "

Rose looked away at that, sticking her cigarette butt into an absinthe bottle, and watching as the ashes mixed with the bright green liquid making it look even more putrid, shaking the small bottle with a thin hand adorned with chipping red nail polish. He noticed now that all four of her knuckles were deeply bruised, and he wondered how it had happened. Who had she fought?

Jack couldn't help it anymore. He stood, knocking over the stool he had been sitting on, strode forward in two heavy steps, and grabbed the bottle out of her hand before she could lift it to her lips for a swig.

"Damn it, Rose, this is horse shit and you know it. Why are you living like this? Why are you poisoning yourself this way? You're better than this, and you know it!" He didn't care how loud he was being. All he cared about in this moment was breaking through her steely resolve.

"Why didn't you look for me?" she yelled back, words laced with venom, and fresh tears springing into her eyes.

Jack looked at her in disbelief, running a frustrated hand through his blonde hair, his other hand throwing the absinthe bottle against the nearest wall where it promptly smashed. Neither of them seemed to care, and the establishment was undoubtedly used to loud noises. Jack was angry. Not at her, but at the situation. At the world, or whatever higher power there may be, for having put the both of them through this hell and still denying them a peaceful reunion. Hadn't they both lost enough already?

"I looked for you, Rose. I've been looking for you every day for two years, and I've finally found you. You didn't make it easy, and now that I have I'm not going to just give up. I don't care what's happened. I don't care what you've been doing or why. I still love you, and I'll never stop. I'll never give up until you understand that." Jack now had tears in his own eyes as he straightened the stool he had previously been sitting on, and claimed it again, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his brown trousers.

"If you're going to stay here, you'll have to pay the difference." Rose's expression was still icy, displaying no emotion. Jack's jaw clenched.

"Fine," he said fishing a wad of bills out of his shirt pocket, and thrusting them toward her. "For the price I'm paying I assume you wouldn't mind if I stole a smoke." He reached past her onto the vanity top, his had brushing her bruised knuckles in an attempt to get her expression to change, before he grabbed the cigarette tin.

He watched her carefully as she unrolled the bills. All $100: A veritable fortune. Her eyebrows rose in disbelief and then furrowed in anger.

"And just what services do you think you're buying tonight, Mr. Dawson? Certainly if you've spent all this time looking for me with such romantic notions you wouldn't be paying for such a common, lowly whore."

"No services, _ma'am_. Just a room is all. This room, and your company. Surely that is well enough over your hourly rate to cover for months, if need be. I'm sure Mistress Beauville won't object." He fought to keep his expression as cool and emotionless as hers. "I'm not leaving here unless you leave with me." He reached past her again, this time brushing his hand against her bruised shoulder in order to light his cigarette on her burning candle.

Yes, he would stay for however long it was necessary. He certainly had the means to now. He would stay until her resolve faltered, or he was able to get her to open up to him. Whichever came first.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose looked at him, biting her lip as she shuffled the bills in her hands, and then stashed them under the jewelry box on the boudoir. Her emotions were all over the place, screaming at her to just run into his arms and let him rescue her again; to let him take her away from this place, from this life, but also to loathe him for what he had led her to. Not he specifically, but if it hadn't been for him she would be miserable with Cal rather than miserable in shambles. She knew though that she still had Cal to blame, not Jack. Never Jack. She opted to stay where she was perched.

She let herself take in his whole appearance now. It had only been two years since that fateful night, but it seemed that the both of them had matured well beyond their years in that short time, both showing wrinkles at the tender ages of 19 and 22. Jack was still tall, tan, and blonde, but had lost his boyish lankiness, and grown more into a man. The muscles in his chest and arms appeared better defined, along with his chiseled jaw line, which was showing the stubble of a five-o'clock shadow, and there was a deep-set frown mark between his eyebrows. His hair, also, displayed a premature grey streak in the front, which she could only assume was a result of trauma and stress. In contrast, she felt as if she had reversed, and gotten less mature with the time, although she knew her appearance was more haggard.

She was much thinner, that she knew. She could count her ribs while standing up. There were no regular meals, and more physical demands, and often the only way to cope was to turn towards drink or drug. Those at least kept her from feeling the hunger, or the pain, or from thinking at all. It kept the memories away, good and bad, except in dreams, and if she could help it she didn't sleep. She wouldn't. She couldn't. Not without ghosts. Unfortunately, since she had chased away sleep the night before, she knew that exhaustion would soon claim her, and now here was this man, this man whom she had dreamed about every night right here in her quarters, and yet she could not bring herself to show any of her real emotions to him.

"You can stay here," she said finally, "for now. And I guess since you're the paying customer that means you get the bed. I'm taking the couch, and I don't want to be disturbed. I'm still hoping you'll change your mind, save us both the pain, and leave," she added coldly, cursing herself all the while. She wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Jack on that bed and have him hold her and kiss her demons away, but wasn't possible. Not now; not after everything that had transgressed since Titanic. Not since Cal- she cut off her own thought with a rough pinch to her won wrist. She was sure Jack had caught it because his expression immediately changed from stubbornness to concern, but he nodded all the same, moving across the room toward the rag covered old bed.

Rose got up and padded to the other side of the room, taking the candle with her. Gingerly, she settled herself onto the tiny couch, using a balled up dress as a pillow, and closed her eyes.

Hearing a noise, she opened them again, and took in a breath at the sight she was greeted with. Jack had his back to her across the room, but had removed his white button down shirt. Even in the dim light she could see the ripple of muscles across his back, and knew that they likely continued along his chest and midsection. A suppressed part of her longed to trace those contours with her fingertips. As if sensing her eyes on him, Jack turned around, suspenders dangling from his hips, his eyes boring into hers questioningly. After a moment, he looked away, and walked closer. She stiffened, not knowing what he was going to do, and then relaxed slightly when he only blew out her candle.

She could hear him now settling into the creaky metal bed, but then he got up again. A minute later she felt a woolen blanket settle over her small frame, and his voice came by her ear.

"Now that I've found you, I'm not going to let a day go by that I don't tell you I love you. I never got the chance, before, and that is my biggest regret."

He leaned down then, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, and as she bit her cheek it was all she could do to keep from crying.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was awoken close to dawn by whimpering from across the room. At first he couldn't remember where he was, but as he looked around at the hazy room through the pre-dawn light starting to peek through the window, he remembered the night before, and with a jolting heart, realized the source of the noise.

Quickly, Jack stood, and softly made his way over to where Rose was sleeping on the couch. The blanket he had draped over her the night before had fallen, and she was shivering now, but as he gazed at her he realized that there was much more to be worried about. Her robe had fallen open, and he could see a trail of scars from the hollow of her throat, down to her navel, and branching out haphazardly across her breasts, as if someone had wanted to flay a tree into her skin. They were healed though; from the looks of it about a year old. Not wanting to wonder in sadness anymore, he picked up the blanket from the floor, and draped it back over her.

Startled, she jumped up, fist swinging blindly for his face, and it was only when he felt the blood pool into his left eye from the new gash on his eyebrow that he realized she had been sleeping with a knife in her hand.

"Jesus Christ, Rose! Are you trying to kill me?" He took a step back, hand flying up to his brow. "All I was trying to do was put the blanket back on 'ya."

Rose seemed to come to her senses, and the knife clattered to the floor as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"I'm so sorry! Jack, I- I don't know what came over me- I thought- I didn't know it was you." She collapsed back on the bed, hand still by her face. "I was confused; I though- I thought you were-" She cut herself off again, looking down now at the floor.

Jack took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the blood flowing down his fingers from where he was attempting to stem the wound. "Who, Rose? Who did you think I was?" Jack kept his voice steady. He wasn't angry so much as concerned. He knew from experience that there were only a few things that would make a woman so guarded that she would sleep with a blade, and attack blindly.

When she looked back up, he was surprised to see tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders shook, and in the dim light she seemed so small, almost like a child. He lowered himself down, getting onto his knees in front of her, his clean hand reaching out to guide her shaking one away from where it was still covering her mouth in shock.

"Please, Rose. Talk to me. You know me. You know I would never betray you in any way. I love you too much for that." He took a deep breath before looking straight into her eyes. "Trust me, Rose. Trust me like you once did."

That's all it took for the floodgates to open. The next thing Jack knew, he had a sobbing, convulsing Rose in his arms, and he held on to her as tightly as he could, rocking her in his lap as she cried herself out. His eyebrow had stopped bleeding profusely, the blood beginning to clot, so he transferred all of his attention to the shaken woman in his arms, running fingers through her matted hair, rubbing her back, and occasionally whispering about how it would all be okay. Whether she believed it or not, he did.

Rose's tears were spent just as the sun rose fully into the sky. Jack, sensing her exhaustion, picked her up bridal style, her arms still around his neck, and carried her over to the bed, where he too laid down, before draping a blanket over them and wrapping his arms protectively around her waist. There would be all the time in the world to talk once they both got some rest.


	4. Chapter 4

It was late afternoon when Rose woke up. Looking around she saw Jack across the room sitting on the couch, a leather portfolio balanced on his knees, charcoal in his hand moving swiftly across the page. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a warm fondness that she hadn't felt toward anyone in years.

She got up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders, and walked over to stand behind the couch, look over Jack's shoulder at his drawing. Of course, it was of her, sleeping. After all, Jack didn't do landscapes. And, of course, it was beautiful, but it wasn't her. Not really. It was a portrait of whom she had been, not who she was.

Jack was watching her carefully, but her expression was masked.

"You don't like it," he said simply.

"No, I do. Its beautiful," she responded, leaning her arms against the back of the couch. "Its just not me."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, so she continued.

"Its not me, Jack. Its who I used to be. I don't fill out my own skin as I used to, and look-" she pointed to where the blanket was barely covering her breasts in the drawing, "You left out the scars. Why? I know you see them."

"I see you," he said, blue eyes boring seriously into hers. Her mouth twitched toward a frown; at the memory of the last time he had said that.

"And?" She couldn't help but respond the same.

"The scars don't make you. I see who you still are under them. And even with them you're still the most beautiful, perfect woman I've ever encountered."

Disbelief was apparent on Rose's face, but before she could respond Jack continued.

"Have I ever given you reason not to trust me, Rose?"

"No." The response was quiet. Sullen.

"Then try. Try to trust me on this. There is no other woman for me. There never will be."

Jack closed the portfolio, drawing unfinished, and put it aside, patting the space next to him on the couch, for her to sit. After hesitating she obliged.

"Rose, let's go home."

"I have no home, Jack. This is where I live. This is where I work. This is where I fit."

"Yes you do. You have a home with me. You don't fit here, Rose. "

"Jack, why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what, Rose?"

"Tempting me with a life I can't have. Next thing you'll be telling me I can have a house, and a marriage, and that I can travel, and read, and learn: that I've got freedom and opportunity. I've got none of that, Jack. I haven't since the 14th of April 1912. My life sank with that fucking ship!"

By the end of her tirade Rose was shaking, looking particularly weak. Jack turned in his seat and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"That is what I'm telling you, Rose. You can have all of that. You can have all of that and more. Whatever you want. The world is open to us now, but you've got to take that step. You've got to make that choice. I can't do it for you."

"Don't tease me like this Jack. Its cruel."

He could tell she was on the verge of tears now.

"I'm not teasing you, Rose. I could never do that. What can I do to prove it to you?"

"I don't know, Jack. Its just- its so hard to believe. I mean, look at where we are right now! This is my life now! I'm a whore, not a housewife, and neither role fit! Jack, I'm trapped either way. I was trapped in society, smothered by rules and propriety- endless parades of fancy and insufferable people, just as I am now, destitute and at the end of my rope. I can't believe in anything anymore."

Jack's worry increased. Rose's breathing was labored now, and she leaned down, resting her forehead on his chest. Automatically, his arms went around her small frame, supporting her weight, and attempting to comfort her at the same time.

"Don't you say that, Rose. You've still got that fire in you that you did when I first saw you. I can see it, just beneath the surface. I promise you its there. You've just got to let those embers catch flame again."

"I feel so weak, Jack."

He looked down at her, just in time to see her eyes roll back and her body go limp in his arms.

"Rose?" he asked tentatively. "Rose!"

He laid her down on the couch, feeling for a pulse. It was there and strong. She had just passed out. Frantic, he ran out of the small chamber in search of help.

Downstairs he recognized Mistress Beauville. Ironically she had been a figment in his youth. She had given him a roof for a few nights out of the frozen New York streets, and had even provided him with a few hot meals and some change in exchange for drawings of her girls for the adverts outside. At the time he had only been scarcely over fifteen.

"Mistress!" Jack shouted urgently, rounding the corner towards the front room, "Please, I need to fetch help! Rose has fainted!"

"Again?" the older woman asked. "And she's usually so strong. What the hell have you been doing with her, Jackie?"

The woman's insinuations made him blush scarlet under his tan, but he was persistent. "Please, if this has happened before there must be something more wrong. She was having trouble breathing. I need to go fetch a doctor. Can you keep an eye on her, or send someone else to?"

She could see the seriousness in Jack's eyes, and nodded resolutely. "You really care about her, don't you, Jack?"

Jack simply nodded, offering a half-smile, before running out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack shifted in his seat by Rose's bedside, arm propped on the armrest, chin in his hand. He was trying in vain not to drift off, because in truth, he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in about four days. It was now the night of the third day since Rose had fainted, and Jack had since had her relocated to city hospital in the depths of Manhattan.

Just has Jack was about to give up and let sleep claim him for a bit, a nurse, a homely brunette, knocked on the door.

"Mr. Dawson?" Jack nodded, looking up.

"Sir, you're wanted in the courtyard. There's two women here to see you."

Jack nodded, with a pretty positive guess of who it might be. "Let me know immediately if there are any changes," he ordered the nurse.

Quietly, he stood, planting a kiss on Rose's forehead before exiting the small room.

When he got to the courtyard, his suspicions were confirmed. There stood two middle-aged women, one portly brunette, and one petite redhead, both dressed in furs against the harsh New York wind.

Running a hand tiredly through his blonde hair, Jack made his way over to the pair. "Molly," he greeted the brunette with a kiss on the cheek, "Mrs. Dewitt-Bukater," He nodded to the thin and aging redhead.

"Mr. Dawson," spoke Ruth. Jack could tell she was fighting to keep her voice congenial. Ruth Dewitt-Bukater was as pleasant to Jack as he suspected she was capable of being, taking into consideration that she wasn't particularly pleasant to anybody. He had admitted to her in recent times though that she found his presence tolerable and that he would be a better romantic match for her daughter, were her daughter ever found.

"Ladies, uh, shall we go in out of the dark? I believe the café area is still open if you would like some tea or coffee? Its on me." With the last part, Jack winked at Molly, who chuckled.

"Tea would be great, Sonny, you lead the way."

Jack offered his arm to Molly, who graciously accepted, and then his other to Ruth, who waved him off, stubbornly preferring to walk on her own with the aid of her small cane. Severe frost bite on the night of the sinking had damaged nerves in her left foot, making walking somewhat more difficult, and she had since been very stubborn about accepting any help with her mobility.

After about ten minutes, the three were seated in the sterile café, two English teas, a coffee for Jack, and a plate of scones in front of them.

"Okay," said Molly, "Enough with the damn niceties. You found her, Jack. How is she? Why is she hospitalized? Is it bad?"

Jack closed his eyes for a minute, a headache beginning to brew behind his temples. He tried to think of how best to explain himself and the situation to the two women who were almost as concerned for Rose as he was. Almost.

To his surprise, Ruth chimed in. "Molly, I'm sure Jack will tell us all he thinks is necessary. Give the boy a minute to breathe."

Jack looked at her, hoping to convey his gratefulness, and was surprised once again to be given a small smile; a rarity for Ruth Dewitt-Bukater. He took a deep breath, and then spoke.

"She could be worse, but she could definitely be better." He thought better than to tell the older women where it was that he had found her, or in what condition. "She has been on her own for nearly a year now, from what I've gathered, and had a pretty rough time. She fainted shortly after we were reunited, and after being seen by a doctor it was concluded that she is severely anemic. From lack of proper nutrition of the past two years she no longer has enough iron in her blood, so she is prone to dizziness, tiredness, weakness, and fainting. Fortunately though, its completely reversible with time." Jack also thought it best to leave out the details concerning Rose's mental state. Rose apparently has a generalized anxiety disorder, accounting for regular panic attacks, which could also be triggered by remembrance of traumatic events. Titanic had surely been traumatic enough, and Jack had yet to piece together the full details of her life these past two years, but he could only assume that it was a harrowing tale.

"Oh, thank god," said Molly, who reached forward for a scone. "Jack, I'm paying the hospital bill."

Jack looked up at Molly Brown, startled. "That won't be necessary, Molly. You've done more than enough for me already."

"Nonsense, Jack. You've done the impossible and found Ruth's daughter. It's the least we can do."

Jack glanced at Ruth then, who nodded, tears in her eyes. Molly, too, looked at the older woman.

"Well Ruth, what's the matter? He found her. Why're 'ya cryin'?"

Ruth blushed as scarlet as her hair, her ice blue eyes watering further. In a motion that shocked Jack to no end, she reached across the table, and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Thank you, Jack. For saving my daughter. Again. I- I'm sorry I never thanked you the first time."

Jack bit his cheek. "I didn't save her Ruth. Only she can do that."

Molly interrupted the moment. "So, when can we see her?"

Jack took another deep breath and cleared his throat. "Well, uh, I, uh, I don't know, Molly. She hasn't even woken fully yet, and even when she does, I want everything she does to be on her terms, ya know?" Jack suddenly felt shy. Here he was, basically being asked by this girls mother for permission to see her daughter. This was something that he didn't feel he could grant, not that he really had a right to stop them. After all, Ruth was Rose's family: her only family. It was only by coincidence that he and Rose now shared a name, not marriage. "She's uh, She's been through a lot, and I want her to be able to take charge of everything on her own now, if that's okay."

Once again, Ruth surprised everyone.

"That's understandable, Jack. Especially given the circumstances of last time she and I saw one another. I should never have forced her into a marriage and a life she didn't want. I was selfish, and I'll understand if she never wants to see me. Please though, Jack, tell her I love her."

Jack nodded, awestruck, and Ruth stood. She laid a hand on his shoulder briefly before walking slowly from the room with dignified posture that only came from a high pedigree, cane tapping gently on the marble floor.

"That was a brave thing you did, son, standing up to Ruth. She knows her mistakes now, and I think she has finally come to realize that she is no longer the primary in her daughter's life. That's a spot that only you can fill. Fill it well. Take care of her."

"I will, Molly. Everything will take time, but I'll see to it that Rose is okay."

"She's got you, Jack. She'll be okay. Now if you'll excuse an old lady, I've got a medical bill to attend to." Molly stood, pushing in her chair.

"Jack?"

"Yes Molly?"

"Please call every now and then, or Ruth will worry herself sick."

"I will, Molly."

"And Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Love her well."

With a wink, Molly whisked herself from the room, and with a smile, Jack could hear her yelling down the hallway from Ruth to "hold her horses."

Perhaps everything could be alright after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Rose felt as if she were under water, perhaps in a small tub in a crowded room. She was warm, and she could hear the murmuring of a voice, but could not make out any coherent words. The sound was far away, and yet near and familiar in a soothing way. She was comfortable for the first time in a long time, and just now, in between the land of dreams and reality it occurred to her to stay.

This want was not granted however, and soon she felt herself being drawn closer toward reality. Light got brighter and images began to materialize where before there was only cream-colored blur. When she finally awoke on that fifth morning bright sun was streaming through a small window, casting a glow upon the white bed sheet on the small cot she found herself in.

Rose's gaze fell upon the hand grasping tightly to hers. It was work weathered, callused and strong, but still gentle and beautiful, and she knew without even looking up whom that hand belonged to, for those hands had been in her dreams for years. Almost automatically, she squeezed the hand back, causing Jack to awaken from his reverie.

"Rose! You're awake!" She looked up now into his face. He looked tired and pained, with more lines etched into his forehead than she had noticed before. Underneath that however his eyes shone with a hope, and something else; was it love? It astounded her, whatever it was. It was an emotion that was completely pure, and honest, and inherently Jack. She found herself smiling—what a foreign thing to do.

"How do you feel?" he asked, concern written on his features.

Rose took stock of her body for a minute and then replied. "Sore, and weak. My head is pounding and my throat is dry. Jack, I'm so confused. Where are we? What happened?"

"Well, Rose, you fainted. I got a doctor, and he suggested we move you here. We're in the hospital on 5th and 42nd in Manhattan. "

"A hospital for a fainting spell? Jack that's absurd!" Rose felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Did she really have no control over what happened to her, ever? Was she that week that she required hospitalization for something so simple and common? She looked at Jack, and saw pain and worry cross his eyes. Suddenly she knew that there had to be something more.

"There's something wrong with me, isn't there, Jack? I can see it in your eyes."

The older man sighed, and ran a hand through his blonde hair. As Rose watched him carefully she realized that he looked way too old; way to care worn for a man of twenty-two, and she silently reminded herself to try and have more patience. This was Jack. He was here caring for her; loving her. This wasn't Cal.

"You're anemic, Rose. You don't have enough iron in your bloodstream, which has made you weak, and lethargic. The fainting spell that brought you here was caused partially by the low iron, and partially by something else." Jack swallowed, looking suddenly scared. "Rose, the doctors said that you have what they call generalized anxiety disorder, but that they believe the anxiety and panic attacks are triggered by memories of traumatic events, as well as some suppressed memories; perhaps something particularly traumatic and endangering that you have subconsciously hidden within your own mind. They told me that these suppressed memories can be triggered by the smallest things; words, emotions, smells, objects. It can get better over time, but they said that what sets you off has to be very carefully monitored."

Rose felt numb. She swallowed, her mouth as dry as sandpaper. "Are you telling me I'm a crazy person?"

Jack looked startled. "What? Rose, no. That's not what I'm saying at all."

"Yes you are. You're implying that I'm not in control of my own mind. In my book that means crazy."

"No, Rose." Jack was standing now, leaning over her, looking directly into her eyes, his blue orbs shining. "You listen to me, Rose." He had one hand now on either side of her face, caressing her hair as he spoke. "You are not crazy. You've been thrown a tough lot in life these past few years, and you're tired. Your body and your mind both want rest. I don't know all of what has happened to you since we got separated, and I'm hoping that you'll let me in, but whatever it is, whatever demons you're hiding away in the back of your mind, we'll fight them together, you understand me? Don't you ever, for one minute think that you're crazy. That's giving up, Rose. That's letting them win, and I'm not going to let you do that. Not now. Not after everything."

Rose shook under his gentle grasp from the power behind his words, and the sincerity in his voice. Tears sprung to her eyes, but did not roll down her cheeks. She realized then, looking into Jack's eyes that she could rest now. She would be safe and taken care of, but never smothered. Jack seemed to want a partnership in life, not an unequal marriage.

Suddenly unable to bear his gaze any longer, Rose closed her eyes. She felt Jack move away and take his seat at the bedside once again. It was silent for a long time before she actually spoke.

"Jack, when can we go home?"

At those words Jack's heart soared. She had said "we." She wanted to know when the both of them could go home. Together. A grin broke across his face like an ocean wave, and he drew forward, kissing her hair.

"As soon as you want to, Rose-petal. As soon as you want."

"Now," she replied quietly. "Tonight."

Jack smiled down at her. "Okay," he breathed.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Where is home?"


	7. Chapter 7

Jack parked the car in the street out front of a stone house, and looked to the passenger seat. Rose was asleep, wrapped in Jack's coat, matted red curls strewn across her shoulder, cheek pressed into the leather of the seat.

Jack took a deep breath and then leaned over, brushing a lock of her red hair away from her eyes. "Rose." She stirred a little bit. "Rose, sweetheart, wake up."

Jumping in her seat, she opened her eyes.

Putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her down, Jack smiled. "'We're here, Rose."

She sat up, and looked out the window. The house was old, but charming. It was several stories tall, with a wide wrap-around porch, and a balcony off of one of the second story picture windows, and had a sturdy looking tin roof. It had ivy growing up the side, and was shaded by two enormous oak trees. In Rose's mind it looked exactly like a place Jack would live.

"Where is here, Jack?" She had no idea how long they had been driving; only that it had been dark when they left Manhattan, stopping briefly at Madam Beauville's so that Jack could collect Rose's few belongings, and now light was beginning to peek above the horizon. They had been bouncing along in Jack's old ford for about eight hours.

"Well, Rose, We're in Virginia, about fifteen miles west of the Capitol. "

Rose wanted to question him further, but realized that she was much too tired to really care all that much about their location, and the house in front of them looked inviting. Almost sensing her desire to get out of the car, and the cold, Jack hopped down from his side and went around to help her out. Unable to contain the boyish grin as he stood straight, offering his had to Rose as he had once done in the bowels of the Titanic, he supported her slight weight as she gracefully stepped out onto the pavement below. He was reluctant to let go of Rose's hand after she had righted herself, but so far she had been reluctant to have much physical contact, and Jack was wary not to push her. He knew that it had been a rough week; a rough couple of years.

Rose sighed, audibly and sadly, and pulled Jack's coat tighter around her, and followed Jack up the short walkway to the front door, where he produced a key from the depths of his pants pocket and swiftly unlocked the heavy bolt.

Jack watched Rose take in a breath as he opened the door, which she seemed to retain as she stepped into the entryway. Jack fidgeted from foot to foot as he tried to gauge her reaction, but was unable to surmise what was going on in Rose's mind. He looked around himself.

The interior of the house was dark wood and stone, mostly, with the exception of a few bare white walls. He hadn't devoted much time to furnishing the place, as the majority of his efforts the past year, while not put towards earning a living, had been spent tracking down the redhead now standing before him in this hall.

He did not think, though, that he had done badly for himself. He had earned a fairly high salary the past few years, and his lifestyle now was a million times different from what it had once been. There were no more bridges to sleep under, but a fireplace and a large soft bed, nevermind that he would forgo the bed anyway in favor of the sofa or blankets on the floor. In his mind the bed was much too large for just him, and much too elegant for a bachelor. He had to admit to himself that when he had bough it, it was Rose that he had in mind.

He watched Rose now. She seemed lost, and somehow overwhelmed. She took a step forward, and stopped short.

"I know its not much. Its probably nothing compared to what you grew up with, but, for now, its home," Jack said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Well, its home now that you're here."

She smiled then, but it didn't reach her eyes, which made something in Jack's heart sink.

_Rose, I'll get your fire back if it's the last thing I do._

"Its beautiful, Jack. Really. I'm afraid I'm just too exhausted to appreciate it fully right now. Could um," She suddenly seemed shy. "Could – is there somewhere I could rest? A guest room or something?"

Jack frowned. Guest room? After all they had been through together and apart, were they still playing at such propriety?

"I uh, haven't furnished any guest rooms yet, but you can take my bed, and rest for the day. I sleep better on the couch anyway," he assured her, and lead her upstairs, and do a doorway on the right.

Jack's room was simple: white walls with a mirror and a few drawings scattered about, and a double bed with a frame of wrought iron, and a plush looking down mattress, a white coverlet folded neatly on top. Upon closer inspection, Rose saw that the wrought iron of the headboard formed intricate patterns made to look like a vine of climbing roses on a trellis, and with a slight smile she noted that there on the bedside table was a single red rose. It was wilting with age and lack of water, but the fact that it was there touched her heart. Perhaps Jack truly did still love her. He at least loved the idea of her, whether he could care for what she had become or not.

"Make yourself comfortable, Rose. This room is yours now. I think it was always meant to be." Jack smiled at her as genuinely and graciously as he could. "I'm gonna go get everything from the car, and if you don't mind, get some sleep. Help yourself to anything you need."

Rose nodded, suppressing a yawn, and Jack closed the space between them briefly, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead before retreating back down the stairs.

Rose surveyed the room further, as she shrugged out of Jack's coat and draped it on the back of a chair sitting at a small vanity. Stepping closer to the pictures on the walls she was transported into scene after scene from the Titanic. There was the day they had walked the deck dreaming carelessly. The way he had portrayed her made her seem both stately and slightly crazed, and perhaps she was. She had certainly been crazed by all of the new ideas and ideals about freedom that Jack had spouted off so poetically.

She moved on to the next drawing, of a little girl with a bow in her long dark hair, pointing at something over the ship's railing. Rose recalled sadly that the girl's name had been Cora. Jack had seemed to love children, and had a particularly touching brotherly bond with this young one.

As she roamed the room, looking into the past on his walls she was greeted by more familiar smiles: Fabrizio and Tommy from Jack's "real" party, and even , who had been kind to both her and Jack, even assisting in saving both of their lives. What stung the most however was the way in which Jack had captured her smile, even without a model. He seemed to have held her image so perfectly in his memory that even the emotions she felt on those few short nights were perfectly preserved; such happiness, and excitement, and even serenity that she now feared would never be hers again, and it made her weep now to remember. She had shut it out for so long, and locked away the Titanic and anything that would remind her away deep in her heart, and now that everything was being called so abruptly to the surface, all she could do was collapse onto Jack's bed, still in her hospital gown, and cry herself into a fitful sleep, dreaming of what could have been.


	8. Chapter 8

It was still light out when Rose awoke again. After stretching, she slumped back down into the soft pillows, and looked around the room. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming through a large window, setting fire to the dust particles floating through the air in such a way that she was reminded of her childhood notion that faerie existed.

Rolling onto her side, she breathed deeply. The linens on Jack's bed smelled brand new, and were still slightly starched, which puzzled her. So far this was one of the only pieces of furniture she had seen in this house, and yet it seemed unused. Exhaling, Rose pushed herself into a sitting position, before standing swiftly; too swiftly. Her head swam, and she was forced to sit down again.

"Dammit," she cursed to herself.

Slowly this time, she stood, and wandered down the stairs. She could hear the crackle of a fire down a hallway to the left of the entryway and followed the noise. Rounding the corner she was greeted by a site that warmed her, physically, and emotionally. A strong fire was going in a large stone hearth across the room. Next to the fire Jack's boots sat haphazardly where they had been tossed. She looked around some more. The walls were bare, but the fire cast a homely glow upon the space. Jack's white shirt lay draped across the back of a wooden chair in the corner, and in the middle, on a threadbare green couch using his arm as a pillow, lay Jack, sleeping deeply.

Knowing that he hadn't gotten much rest the past week, Rose decided to leave him be, after pulling his flannel blanket further up his shoulders. As she looked at he blanket again she realized that it was familiar; it was the same kind that they had handed out to the survivors on the Carpathia. Jack was still using this handout, even with the beautiful new set of linens just up the stairs; why? The question bit at something inside her, scraping open an old wound. Perhaps she wasn't the only one who had such a hard time forgetting and moving on.

Deciding to stop this train of thought before it got out of hand, Rose went in search of something that would occupy her for the time being, and upon discovering a bathroom on the second floor across from where she had slept, she decided it was high time to clean herself up. It had been over a week since she had looked in a mirror, and even longer than that since she had particularly cared about the reflection.

Closing the door to the small room, she turned the hot water on at the tap above the large bath, and let the tub fill, dropping in some soap that Jack had sitting on the side. Deciding that perhaps her reflection would be easier to face once she was cleaner, she stripped out of the hospital gown, letting it pile on the floor, and gingerly stepped into the hot water.

It had been a long time since Rose had been in a tub, and even longer since she last had hot water. She had almost forgotten what it was like; how relaxing it could be. Lulled by the sound of silence so unlike the city noise, with the soap and water like a balm to her aching body, Rose washed her hair and body, and then closed her eyes.

Jack awoke when it was beginning to get dark, and after stoking the fire wandered upstairs to check on Rose and see if she was hungry. Alarmed when he didn't find her in his bedroom, he was on the verge of panic until he heard a light noise, like water dripping from a faucet coming from the bathroom.

He knocked on the door, and received no response. He knocked again. Nothing.

"Rose?" No response.

"Christ," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Rose, I'm comin' in."

He opened the door, and had to stifle a laugh. Rose, it seemed, had fallen asleep in the tub, and by the lack of bubbles in the water, it must have been some time ago. He let himself look at her for just a minute, committing the picture to memory for a later drawing, memorizing the peaceful expression on her face, before crossing the room.

Careful not to startle her with a touch, he grabbed a clean towel, and called her name again, louder this time. She sat up quickly, splashing some of the bathwater on Jack and on the floor, and looked around disoriented.

"Jack?"

"You fell asleep in the tub, love. You should come out, or you'll look like a prune." He unfolded the plush towel and held it up, inviting her to step out and into the warmth of the garment, and she obeyed, hesitantly.

Drying her off some, Jack rubbed her arms through the towel, before fetching her another for her dripping long hair.

"Jeez, Rose, you're freezing. How long were you in there?"

She looked at him with a light blush coloring her cheeks. How was he still so caring, after all this time?

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It was late afternoon, I guess."

Jack looked at her, worried. "Its past dark now. You're not too chilled are you?"

Rose shook her head, but Jack decided he would rather be safe than sorry. Leading her back to his room, he began to shuffle through his drawers.

"What were you planning to wear, Rose?"

"I—I hadn't thought of that. I suppose the hospital gown. I've got no other clothing of my own."

"Though so," said Jack, briefly remembering a similar conversation with Molly Brown so very long ago.

Finding what he wanted, Jack pulled out a thick blue winter shirt, and a pair of corduroy slacks that were too small for him now. Rose would be swimming in them, but she'd be warm.

"Here," he held out the garments.

Rose hesitated. "I couldn't."

Jack raised an eyebrow, challenging her refusal. "You can. I told you to help yourself to anything, didn't I? Now here. Get warm. I'll be downstairs cooking us some supper."


	9. Chapter 9

Rose looked into Jack's small mirror, and breathed in the rich scent of Jack still lingering on the collar of the shirt he had given her to wear. She had never worn pants before, and had only worn a blouse on rare occasions. They felt strange; almost freeing, and the shirt was possibly the warmest thing she had ever worn. The face above the clothing however was almost more unfamiliar than the baggy garments. She was pale, with cheeks hollow, and eyes appearing sunken and dull below arched brows. After attempting to smooth her hair, which was curling heavily now that it had been cleaned, but which was still tangled, she decided it was better to give up the feat for now rather than waste energy on the effort.

After making her way down the stairs, Rose found the kitchen by following the noise of pots and pans. When she rounded the corner past the sitting room where Jack had slept, she saw him standing over a small gasoline stovetop. There was a dishtowel draped over his shoulder, and his suspenders were hanging loose from his hips. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. Not knowing what else to do, Rose lightly cleared her throat.

Jack turned suddenly, startled, and then smiled to see Rose standing in the doorway. He couldn't help but to think about how adorable she looked in his overly large clothing. Suddenly feeling nervous, he pulled out a seat for her at the small wooden table in the middle of the room. Rose sat, and surveyed the room. It was small and simple, but well stocked. There were a number of pots and pans hanging from pegs above the stovetop, and a pitcher of utensils off to the side. Through glass doors to the cupboards, Rose could see small stacks of mismatched dishes; a few oddly colored plates, some mismatched mugs and bowls, and glasses in dazzling hues. For a minute Rose was reminded again of the Titanic, and of Jack's interest in use of color.

_"Oh, Monet!"_

_ "You know his work?"_

Quickly, she pushed the memory aside. Jack was an artist, or so she assumed. Of course the objects in his house would be full of color. Jack wasn't Ruth Dewitt-Bukater, for whom only the finest and purest of white china would do.

Jack noticed Rose's glances towards the cabinets, and mentally smacked himself for being rude.

"Do, uh, do you want something to drink, Rose? Coffee, juice, tea, water? I'd offer you some wine or beer, but I'm not sure that would go well with um, well," Jack paused suddenly feeling unsure. "I would have made you a better meal, but I haven't been here in a while, and well, all I had was ingredients for breakfast. I'm sorry." Feeling suddenly sheepish, he let a hand stray to the back of his neck, rubbing at it, as he looked at the ground.

Rose, wanting to break the tension let out a nervous laugh.

"Jack, Breakfast sounds wonderful, even if it is past dark. I don't remember the last time I ate, so anything will suffice, really."

Jack frowned slightly, and Rose realized that that must have sounded bad, but elected to keep silent.

"So, um. Coffee, tea, juice?"

"I'll have whatever you have. I don't want to be an inconvenience to you more-so than I already am."

Jack nodded, feeling even more unsure of himself now. "Coffee it is, then."

A few minutes later when he set a plate full of steaming pancakes, eggs, and sausage in front of Rose, she realized just how hungry she actually was, forgot all decorum she had been trying to keep a pretense of, and began do dig into the meal with a vengeance. Jack sat stunned for a minute, watching her, but then began his own meal. Really, he knew that he shouldn't be surprised, after the way she had downed that awful beer at the third class party below decks.

The meal passed quickly, but in silence. Now, as plates were pushed aside and they sat facing each other again, soaking in the quiet of the house, and the warmth of the coffee on the cold night, they knew that they would also have to face all that was lingering unsaid.

Jack was the first to break the silence.

"You're not an inconvenience."

Rose was confused now. "I beg your pardon?"

"What you said earlier. You're not an inconvenience. I admit, I don't really understand everything that's going on with you. Not yet. I mean, I don't know the details. And you may have managed to flood my bathroom and steal my clothes on the first afternoon, but you're not an inconvenience. Rose, I want you here. I've spent two years looking for you. What did you think I was gonna do? Say 'nice to see you, how about we do this again sometime?" As he talked, Jack realized that he was even more angry at the situation than he had originally thought. This was going to be tough if he couldn't get to the Rose he loved that he could see trapped just beneath the skin of this hollow girl before him.

"I told you not to stay," she shot back. "I told you to go, but you wouldn't, because you're too goddamn stubborn."

"Oh, now I'm the stubborn one. Rose if I had left you there what would have happened, huh? Would you have kept doing your _job _and entertained whatever men entered your door as if you had never seen me again? You fainted, Rose. You had to be hospitalized and you didn't wake up for nearly a week. What would you have done if I hadn't been there? Madame Bouville means well, but its still just a brothel, Rose, and she could have never paid for treatment. You could have died. I couldn't lose you again."

Rose physically backed away from the table, tears in here eyes. She didn't want to admit it, but Jack's words stung. Not wanting him to see just how much they had hurt, she stood, and turned her back on him, walking toward the counter. "So that's it then, Jack? You get money, and that makes you better than someone else? Just like _them_?"

Jack didn't have to ask who the them was that she was referring to, and immediately tried to amend. "Rose, that's not what I meant—"

"I'm not a whore, Jack. Or is that not what you meant as well?" Her voice was icy now. "I don't know why the mistress let you into my room that night, but it was not my job to 'service' the men who came around."

Again, memories bounced around in her mind, wanting out, but having nowhere to go.

_I'd rather be his whore than your wife._

_ "_I was a dancer, Jack. An actress. Or as close to one as I could get from nothing. I was there to entertain and put on a facade. I performed burlesque five nights a week. I'm not saying it wasn't degrading. It was. The idea that all of those men have seen, well, all of me, makes me ill, but it kept a roof over my head at the very least. "

It was Jack's turn to sit quietly for a minute, before finally apologizing.

"I'm sorry I assumed, Rose. Really, I am. I know you're not that type of girl, and mostly I'm just glad that you're alive"

Rose sighed and sat back in her chair facing him, mouth drawn. "I'm not what type of girl, Jack? Because last time I checked, we barely knew anything about one another. We knew each other for a grand total of three days two years ago, and my behavior aboard that ship didn't exactly speak volumes about my character, or have you forgotten how we met? Have you forgotten that I was ready to selfishly throw myself off the bow of a ship in the north Atlantic without even thinking of how I would affect those around me? Or how about the fact that I was engaged, never mind that Caledon Hockley is the lowest of scum on this earth, but I was engaged, Jack, and I was willing to openly enter into an adulterous relationship with a man that I had barely known for a day, besmirching my reputation, and whatever dignity my family had remaining at that point. The guilt eats at me every moment, Jack. So if you're trying to tell me that I'm better than a whore, while I have not had to stoop to that level, you can't glorify me and convince me of it, Jack. I don't deserve your pity."

"Rose, circumstances haven't changed all that much. When I found you on the bow of that ship, all I wondered was what must have happened to make you feel like you had no way out? I wanted to help you, but I never pitied you. I sympathized with you, because you may not have known it until now, but I've been there. I've been ready to jump off a bridge, but someone pulled me back, and although he's gone now, I still thank him every single day. You were unhappy with Cal. He made you unhappy and you couldn't have gone on in that life. And with the way you were being treated, you owe nothing to anybody, least of all your guilt. If things had been different you would be dead."

"I may as well be, Jack."

She said this at barely a whisper, but he heard it, and it broke his heart. He wanted so badly to do nothing but have a fresh start with Rose, but that wasn't possible now, and he realized that. It wasn't possible with all of the baggage they were both carrying.

"Don't you ever say that, Rose. You hear me?" His heart was pounding now, out of love, and fear, or perhaps both.

"And why not? I've got nothing left, Jack. I've got no dignity. Hell, I don't even have my own clothes on my back. "

"You're right. You've got mine, just like you've got me. You have a life, Rose. Please don't throw it away." Jack felt as if he was on the verge of hysterics now, and he realized how a panic attack must feel.

"How can you trust me, Jack, after everything I've done? I couldn't even stay faithful to you for a whole week after I thought you were dead."

Rose was crying hard now, and Jack sat frozen, confused.

"What are you talking about, Rose? I thought you said you didn't entertain—"

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I didn't want to—I tried to—"

Suddenly, Jack realized what she was trying to say, and his face fell like stone.

"Who?" he managed to choke out, although his throat felt as if it were closing up more and more each second. How dare anyone put their hands on Rose; his darling Rosebud. His fists clenched under the table.

Rose, seeing the realization and incumbent fury on Jack's face automatically felt fear. "Cal."

Jack's jaw clenched further, and Rose could see a vein begin to throb on his temple. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to calm his temper. Rose needed him, and there was nothing he could do about Cal. Not anymore.

He looked at her seriously, but kept his tone soft now.

"Is that where the scars came from, Rose?"

"Yes."

There was nothing left for Jack to say just then, and yet only one thing he could do. Standing up from the table, he walked over to Rose, who was now trembling through her tears, scooped her up with ease, and carried her into the sitting room, and onto the couch, where he finally let his own tears fall along with hers.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack sat for a long time after Rose had calmed down, just holding her, running his fingers through her hair gently untangling it, and rubbing light patterns on her back. She hadn't moved in a long time, her face pressed into the crook of his neck, but he could tell by her breathing that she wasn't asleep. After a few more minutes he looked down at her. When her eyes met his, they looked as if they held a plea for assurance, which Jack offered in the form of a lingering kiss on her forehead. She closed her eyes, and for the millionth time that night Jack wondered about how a man could be evil enough to ever hurt such a beautiful creation. Suddenly, he felt sick to his stomach all over again, and knew that he had to do something, anything, but sit and stew.

He looked back down at his lovely redhead.

"Rose, are you tired? Do you want to go rest?"

She looked at him now with puffy eyes swollen from crying, and nodded, making to stand up, but Jack beat her to it, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and slipping the other under her knees, he lifted her again with ease, and carried her up the stairs, if only to give his body something to do.

After he had her settled under the covers, Jack turned to go, but Rose caught his hand.

Turning around, he walked back to her bedside, kneeling, and kissing her knuckles as they were clasped around his.

"I love you, Rose."

"Will you stay here with me, Jack?" Rose's voice was unsure, and asking such a question she almost felt like a small child, but she didn't want to fall asleep alone; didn't want to face the nightmares she knew would come.

"Of course, angel." Jack sat down on the side of the bed. "I'll be right here until you fall asleep."

Rose awoke, screaming, sweat coating her trembling body. Sitting up straight, she looked around, taking a minute to realize her surroundings. As soon as she placed where she was, all of the events of the past week came streaming back into her memory.

Jack. Where was he?

She looked around the room, but saw no trace of the blond man who had stood sentinel when she had drifted off to sleep. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 3am.

Suddenly restless, and wanting comfort, Rose stood up and went in search of Jack. Her first thought was to look in the small living room where he had slept earlier, but when she found that empty, the fire having long since died out, she wandered farther down the hall. He wasn't in the kitchen, or in what appeared to be an office, nor was he in any of the empty rooms that filled the rest of the first floor. Rose had been about to go back upstairs, when she heard a noise coming from just off the kitchen.

After investigating she realized that Jack was on the back porch of the house. Taking a minute she surveyed him through the window. It was raining outside, but Jack didn't seem to notice. He was focused on a punching bag that was chained to the rafters of the porch. Clothed only in his pants, and a sleeveless white undershirt, he was crouched down low. He was alternating blows to the punching bag, left, and right. Rose watched, feeling somewhat confused. Boxing wasn't a past time she had ever pictured Jack enjoying, but she supposed that there was still a lot left to learn of her kind, gentle, artist. He had in fact landed a few solid blows on that fateful night.

As she watched, Jack's blows got faster, and more forceful, and she was startled to see his face suddenly fill with a rage she had only seen on Titanic when Jack had perceived her to be in danger. He was yelling now, but Rose could only make out a few select words over the pounding of the rain on the tin roof, "Bastard," being the most repeated of adjectives.

Putting two and two together, Rose realized then what had driven Jack out into this rainstorm: the same thing that had driven Rose into destitution in the heart of New York City; Cal.

As she watched, she realized that tears were now mixing with the rain on Jack's face, and her heart ached. She wanted to go to him, to embrace him and assure him that everything would be okay, somehow, but she remained rooted to the spot.

Suddenly, with one last powerful blow, the punching bag fell from the rafter, the canvas having ripped at the top from the force. Jack shrank down then, collapsing onto the ground with a howl of pain, as he clutched at his right hand.

Wanting to do something, anything, Rose ran to the door that led out onto the porch, and kneeled next to Jack, startling him.

He looked up at her, face still angry, but also filled with worry. "What are you doing out here, Rose? It's freezing. You'll get sick."

"Jack, you're injured. Will you stop worrying about me for one minute, please, and worry about yourself? I'm trying to help you."

Jack's jaw set, and he stood, turning away. "I'll be fine, Rose. Go back inside."

"You're being absurd!" she yelled, willing him to come inside with her.

"Rose, go. Will you, will you just give me a minute? Please?"

Rose stood, watching him, and making no move to leave. After a few minutes had passed, the both of them standing on the porch in the rain, she took a step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. She realized then that it was one of the first times since his reappearance that she had made a move to touch him first, and was reassured a little when his hand went up to rest on top of hers. Slowly, she snaked an arm around his waist, and leaned her head down into the back of his neck. Despite the chill in the air his skin was hot with the exertion of the boxing.

"Jack, if we're going to make this life better for each other, we can't keep going on like this. We can't run away from each other every time we feel something, whether its unpleasant or not."

"I know, Rosebud," he said with a sigh, leaning into her warmth.

"I know you're overwhelmed, Jack. Everything has been crazy. And I'm sorry to spill everything to you so suddenly. I just couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. I need you, Jack. I can't keep to myself anymore and be all right. "

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Rose. I'm sorry for snapping at you. " He turned around then, placing his hands on her shoulders. "There's just so much going through my mind, and I guess I'm angry at the entire situation still. I want nothing more than to take you in my arms and kiss away all of your pain, but I'm so afraid of hurting you, especially now that I know what that bastard did; what you've been through. I'm so afraid that I'll make a mistake, and scare you somehow, and I never want to do that."

"Is that the real reason then, Jack?"

He looked down at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Is that the real reason why you haven't kissed me; have barely touched me at all? Is that really the only reason?"

Rose was smiling now, and Jack found himself even more confused.

He tried to ask her what she was talking about, but she began to laugh, and cut him off again.

"Oh Jack, I was so worried, all for nothing. I thought—well, actually I don't know what I thought. I thought that maybe you didn't want me like that anymore. I thought you were ashamed of me; of what I've become—of, of what he made me do and that's why you wouldn't touch me like you used to. I thought that maybe you thought I "

Jack was stunned. How could she even think that? How could she think for one second that he could ever stop wanting her; stop loving her. It didn't matter what had happened the past two years, he would always love her, and more every day.

"Rose, nothing that has happened matters to me."

For a minute, she looked skeptical, so Jack decided to prove his point. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around her tight, and leaned down, kissing her full on the mouth for the first time since before the Titanic sank.

At first caught off guard, Rose's muscles tensed, but then quickly loosened as she melted into the kiss, into Jack, and into all of the love she felt radiating from him. When he pulled away she was left with tears on her face, and butterflies in her stomach. She hadn't thought she would every feel like this again.

Breathlessly, Rose kissed Jack again, initiating it this time, loving the feeling of his lips on hers. Timidly, she let her tongue trace along his lips, begging entrance; something that surprised Jack, making him cling to her tighter as their tongues fought for dominance. The kiss was warm and passionate, and when Jack opened his eyes after pulling away the thought he saw a glimpse of familiar fire burning in Rose's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was raspy.

"I love you, Rose."

" love you too, Jack. So much."

He pressed his forehead to hers, smiling for what felt like the first time all day.

Quietly, he took her hand, leading her inside, and leaving his mess on the porch to clean up later.

Wordlessly, he made his way up the stairs, leading Rose by the hand behind him. His injured hand ached badly, but he knew what he wanted, and that was this beautiful slip of a woman who had made a home in his heart. He wanted her so badly his body ached with the thought, but he didn't want her in the way a man would usually want to take a woman. He wanted to take his time; to truly learn and worship every inch of her like he hadn't been able to do before, and focus on her pleasure alone. He wanted to see her smile, and to hear her speak his name in the jagged whisper of pleasure that he had only heard once before, but had never forgotten.

Slowly, and with care, giving her all the time she needed to back out, or object, Jack laid Rose down on the bed, and began to kiss her once more, softly and tenderly, his fingers tangled in her wet curls. After a time he pulled back and simply looked at her beneath him.

She was still dressed in his shirt, but had removed the pants before sleeping earlier, the clothing having been near to falling down anyway. The blue shirt was simple and worn, but she made it look like the most beautiful garment he had ever seen. Her bare legs under the long shirt however, were now causing his heart to race erratically as the part of his brain that was all male took over.

"You're so beautiful, Rose." He kissed her again.

"Jack," she said, panting from the kiss, her fingers running through his wet shaggy hair. "Touch me, Jack."

Not needing to be told twice, Jack let his hand run from her hair, down to her collar bone, his fingers tracing over the side of her chest and down her hips and thighs then back up to rest again on her left breast as his mouth sought hers.

Rose moaned into Jack's mouth as his hand began to gently massage her breast through the shirt, and suddenly she wanted his hands to be everywhere.

Jack however, continued to be gentle and slow, so much unlike their time in the car, which had been frenzied and rushed.

Keeping his eyes trained on hers, searching for any objection, Jack unbuttoned the shirt one button at a time, and pushed it from her shoulders before even chancing a look down at her body.

Unabashedly, he let himself stare, taking in her radiance. The vision of her on that couch when he had drawn her often lingered at the edge of his mind, teasing him, but her beauty then was nothing compared to her radiance now, even with scars that she undoubtedly viewed as marks that would surely mar her beauty.

Cupping her cheek tenderly, Jack found her eyes again, and saw her apprehension and timidity. She moved to cover herself, but Jack caught his hand.

"Rose, you're the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Don't you ever hide yourself away. If I need to I will spend the rest of my life kissing every single scar until you feel as beautiful as you are."

As if to prove his point, he moved his lips to trace the thin white line running from her jaw to her right collar bone, kissing and nipping gently, causing her to shiver, and for goosebumps to appear on her alabaster skin. Absently, he wondered what exactly it was from.

Slowly, but purposefully, he made his way down the valley between her breasts placing light kisses along the long scar that ran from the hollow of her throat to just above her navel, and then back up as his fingers delicately traced the smaller scars spidering away to each side over her breasts. As he did so, Jack allowed his tears to fall once more, wishing he could take her pain and memories away, willing peace and happiness into each kiss. What trauma had she experienced? What sick nightmares troubled her so now?

Rose, touched deeply by Jack's actions drew his face back up toward hers, and kissed away each tear that had fallen, before kissing his lips softly, letting him know in her own way that she understood his gesture. Jack's hands brushed down her sides to rest on her hips briefly, before he drew them back up to continue his ministrations on her chest.

Gently, but with strong hands, Jack began to knead her right breast, moving his lips to her left nipple. Gently, he kissed around the pink bud before taking it into his mouth and suckling, flicking his tongue over and around it as Rose gasped, and gripped his hair.

"Jack!" she gasped out as a shiver of pleasure shot through her body. "Don't stop, please."

Jack looked up at her. Her eyes were shut, her lips slightly parted. She looked to him like an angel.

"Don't worry, darling," he said, somewhat breathless. "I won't."

With that he returned his attentions to her breasts, sucking and massaging them with his tongue and hands in succession until she was breathing heavily, and he knew he had to taste more of her.

Once again, he looked into her eyes, as his hand began a trail down her stomach, his fingers causing the muscles in her abdomen to twitch happily under the unfamiliar graze. When his hand reached the hem of her panty-line, he stopped.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice brusque with desire, as he searched her soul through her eyes. He could see no fear; only love.

Rose nodded. "I trust you, Jack."

Gently, and almost painfully slow, Jack hooked his thumbs under the hem of the garment and pulled them down her legs, standing as he did so. Following him up, into a sitting position, Rose reached forward and pulled his soaked sleeveless shirt over his head. Jack took a minute to kick off his boots and remove his rain soaked pants before returning to the bed. When Rose moved to remove his undershorts, his arousal plainly evident, he stopped her.

"Not tonight, Rose." He took her hand planting a kiss on her knuckles. "Tonight is about you, and only you."

Rose's confusion grew, but soon she found herself unable to think of anything except for the sensations that Jack's hands were bringing as they brushed across her inner thighs, and up, gently brushing over the red curls below her hips, until he gently parted her legs.

Rose watched Jack in wonder as he lowered his body to the floor, pulling her forward to the edge of the bed, his arms wrapped around her thighs. Slowly, with a whisper of his love, Jack lowered his lips to her most sensitive area, immediately stirring such pleasurable sensations that Rose had never dreamed possible.

She gasped audibly as Jack's mouth drifted over and around her, his tongue seeking out mysteries of flesh she had never dared to explore. Soon, she was moaning loudly, her body moving out of her control as Jack continued, never wavering. She could see him watching her from between her legs, which caused her skin to flush even more with the thought of what must be going through his mind. She had never heard of a man doing such things before, but this was Jack. Of course he would be different. She gave a panting sigh. The things his mouth were doing were beautiful.

After a few more minutes, Rose's knees began to quake, and Jack knew that she must be nearing her finish. Locking eyes with her once more, Jack quickened the movement of his mouth as he gently moved two fingers inside of her in a rocking motion. Seconds later, Rose was panting his name in a shattered whisper, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open beautifully as her hands grasped at his hair and the sheets. Her whole body shuddered, back arched before relaxing, and gently, Jack kissed away the remainder of her juices before moving up the bed to wrap his arms around the still trembling Rose.

"Jack." It was his name on her lips, within it a promise of love and trust. He found her hand, his fingers lacing automatically with hers as he settled his face into the crook of her neck, pulling the down coverlet over them, and wrapping an arm lightly around her torso.

For the first time since owning this house, Jack settled in to sleep in his own bed, the love of his life sleeping soundly in his arms completely exhausted by pleasure that he was able to bring.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack was the first to wake the next day, and he took the time to savor the feeling of a comfortable bed, and even better, the view.

Rose had curled into his side during the night, and was now resting with her head half on the pillow, half on Jack's chest, her arm and leg strewn lazily across his body. The bed sheet had fallen and tangled around her waist, and her radiance was even more apparent in the noontime sun streaming through the picture window. Not feeling like moving yet, and also not wanting to disturb the first peaceful slumber he had witnessed Rose have, he closed his eyes once more and let his drowsiness take over.

When he woke next he found the bed empty, and the down coverlet missing leaving him in only the thin sheet. He stood up and stretched, and noticed the open window that looked out to the balcony. He could see Rose standing outside, a cup of coffee in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. The coverlet was tied around her naked body, making her look to Jack like a Greek goddess.

With a smile, he approached, and wrapped his arms gently around her waist, kissing her neck.

"Good morning, Aphrodite."

She raised a mocking eyebrow. "I'm no Aphrodite, Jack. I'm not nearly a good enough lover for that, and Aphrodite was far too fickle."

Jack nodded. "You're right, she was fickle. My apologies. I have to argue though, you are an excellent lover; probably far better than Aphrodite."

Rose laughed, giving a snort of derision. "Be careful, Jack. You wouldn't want to insult such a spiteful and fickle goddess."

"Right again, my love. Still though, You're my goddess. And you always will be."

Rose frowned slightly and sighed, and leaned into Jack, who lifted her arm, taking a drag from the cigarette in her hand from over her shoulder.

Rose turned to him. "Sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a very long time."

She nodded. "Good. Me as well. Jack, I wanted to thank you." She walked back inside, and after Jack followed, she shut the window against the cold air. Setting down her empty mug, she picked up a second from the small dresser, and handed it to Jack. The creamy liquid was still steaming happily.

He accepted the mug, slightly dumbfounded that she had thought to make it for him.

"Thank me for what?"

She sighed again. "For everything. For your patience. For tracking me down, and for not giving up because of my stubbornness. I—I've still got a lot to work through, but I think that being here, it'll be easier. Being near you, while it brings up a lot of bittersweet memories, seems to be helping me to heal a little bit. I um, also wanted to thank you for last night."

She bit her lip, blushing nervously now, and looking adorable, and Jack couldn't help but smile.

"Really, Jack, you are truly wonderful. I never dreamed of feeling that beautiful again, but somehow you're able to do that; make me feel beautiful, and wanted, and loved when I think its least possible."

He cut her off then. "You are beautiful, and wanted and loved, Rose. "

"But Jack, you've got to see, the things you did were too beautiful. I didn't deserve any of it. I've been perfectly wretched to you. I don't deserve you, Jack. I don't deserve your love. I'm too damaged."

Setting his mug back down on the dresser, Jack took two steps forward and closed the space between himself and Rose, who was leaning against the wall next to the rugged furniture. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he was reminded of the afternoon on the Titanic when he had cornered her in the gymnasium.

_Sooner or later, Rose, that fire that I love about you is going to burn out._

He spoke softly and calmly, weighing his words. "Rose, you've been perfectly fine towards me. I don't expect everything to be as it was, and I know you're struggling in here." He gently tapped her temple, indicating her internal struggle. "Time has passed, and we're not the same people, but one thing hasn't changed; I still love you, and possibly even more so. I told you once that winning that lucky hand of poker was the best thing that ever happened to me. I still believe that. The question for me is whether I'm deserving of you, but I know that all I can do is try and be my best for you."

Jack took a breath, and then pressed on before Rose could interject. " Don't you ever think you're inferior to anyone, Rosie. You're the most astounding person I know, and to have gone through what you have and still be here… that's amazing. You're not damaged. If anything, all that you've been through has made you stronger. I don't expect everything to be okay overnight. We're going to have to work at this for a very long time—probably forever, but its worth it. I love you. Nothing will ever change that."

A tear rolled down Rose's face, and Jack wiped it away with his thumb.

"You're so strong, Rose. You're the bravest girl—woman, I've ever met. You deserve the world, and I plan on doing my best to give it to you."

Rose reached up, and placed her hand over Jacks, before kissing his palm.

"Thank you Jack, for believing in me, even though I don't have much faith in myself right now."

Jack gave a sad smile. He knew that somehow he would help her regain her confidence no matter how long it took. As he lowered his hand, Rose gave it a squeeze, causing a yelp of pain.

Looking down at it Jack realized that three of his knuckles were swollen and blue.

"Shit!" He muttered, flexing the hand, trying to assess the injury.

"Jack! Are you alright?" Rose tenderly grabbed hold of the injured hand and inspected it.

Jack pulled his hand back. "I'll be alright, Rose. I've had worse. I guess I let my temper get the better of me. I'm sorry you saw that."

Rose nodded. "Its alright. I just couldn't sleep. I didn't know you boxed, Jack."

"I don't," he responded with a bit of a laugh. "At least not seriously. The bag is good exercise. It gets my mind off of things. And when I was younger and running the streets it was sometimes helpful to know how to fight. There have been a few times when good right hook has saved me the trouble of being mugged. My um—my old man, he taught me how to throw a punch, and how to defend myself. "

Jack paused, giving a sad smile. Rose suddenly felt how difficult it must be for Jack to talk about his father.

"You know, Rose," he continued, "It wasn't exactly encouraged for a boy from small town Wisconsin to be interested in art. It was a lumber town. Nearly everyone's fathers were lumberjacks. All the boys I went to school with, well, they were raised tough while I was taught to do what I wanted, and so I drew things. They were raised to throw punches, and I was raised to negotiate. I was an outcast even before my parents accident, but my father; he understood me. Pops was a carpenter. He built stuff, so he understood my love of art. Once the kids started picking on me; beating me up and chasing me around town, he taught me how to throw a real punch. I decked Jimmy Roberts one time. He was a, uh, a big guy around town. Thought he was tough shit. Anyway, I decked him once and no one messed with me again. Since then I've trusted my arm when there aren't any more options."

Rose regarded Jack for a minute. He seemed to be looking into a far away time, and she knew that he must really trust her to let her in to his past. "Could you teach me someday, Jack?"

He snapped back into reality and looked at her. "Huh?"

"Could you teach me how to throw a real punch one day?"

Jack stood. "I'll teach you right now."

"What? Now?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, why not. No time like the present, right?"


	12. Chapter 12

A couple of hours later, Jack emerged from cleaning himself up, and after getting dressed again in his usual casual trousers and buttoned down shirt with suspenders, he wandered downstairs in search of Rose.

After a few minutes he found her in his office sitting with his portfolio in her lap.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked, startling her. She jumped up, and closed the leather case, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks.

"I—nothing, Jack. Just, well, I wanted to see your art."

Jack nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "I see. And have you found anything to your taste?"

"I've said it before, Jack, you're a very fine artist."

Jack smiled at her. "Well, I'm no Picasso, but I have to admit, your opinion matters more than anyone else's."

Rose sat down again, flipping once more through the leather case, and Jack joined her.

"You still haven't told me, Jack. What is it that you do now? I don't mean to pry, but well, you're a lot more—well, you're a lot better off than…"

Jack chuckled. For some reason it was incredibly amusing to him that Rose was still trying to conduct conversation with the tact and politeness of first class, when here she was dressed in men's clothing, with her curls strewn about.

"Rose, its alright. You can say what you mean around me. I was a poor guy. Now I'm rich. The truth doesn't bother me."

She nodded for him to continue.

"Truthfully, it was all kind of a fluke, and I owe a lot of thanks to Molly Brown."

"Molly?" Rose's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Yes. You see, Molly found me in the medic ward on the Carpathia, and if it wasn't for her I probably wouldn't have made it. I was severely hypothermic. She took me in, and paid the doctors' bills until I was pronounced healthy. After that she pretty much told me I wasn't allowed to leave. After what had happened, she didn't want to see me on the streets, and truth be told, I think she probably just wanted the company. Anyway, I lived there for a couple of months, and found odd jobs to try and pay her back, but she wouldn't take any money from me. It was around this time that I realized for sure that you weren't dead, and she helped me begin my search to find you."

Rose nodded attentively, and Jack could see that she was beginning to process everything and put the story together.

"She encouraged me to keep drawing during this time, and unbeknownst to me, she started to circulate my art within her crowd. Around December of 1912, I received a telegram from a man who claimed to work for the United States military, within a department designated for propaganda and morale bolstering. He commissioned me a job to create a series of posters to be hung in public spaces encouraging young men to enlist, as the great war was starting up in Europe, and it looked like we could be joining in the cause at any time."

Jack sighed, seemingly lost in his thoughts for a minute, before running a hand through his hair and continuing.

"I don't support war, Rose. And it would probably seem like heresy where I work now, but I just don't think its right to send so many troops to almost certain death for a cause that's not ours. But I knew I had to find you, and to do it I'd need money. Of course, I didn't count on the large sums I've recently aquired, but it seems that my artwork, all for the wrong reasons has become very popular with the upper classes, partially thanks to Molly. Right now I'm not doing as much work for the government, although I'm still called in on occasion for one commission or another. Finally though, I'm able to get a start on my own works again."

"Its odd," Rose stated. "It seems that once I checked out of society, you've checked in."

Jack shook his head. "Its not like that. You've seen the way I live. I may own this house, but I don't take up much space. Most of these rooms aren't even furnished. It's just that Molly insisted on this place. Personally, I think she had you in mind, more than anything else. You know that I could care less about the money. Its nice and all, but its not everything. And the people in that crowd… let's just say that there are only a select few that I can tolerate."

There was something sharp in Jack's tone that peaked Rose's interest, but she decided it would be best not to investigate just now.

"I know you're not one of them, Jack. I'm just remarking upon the irony, that's all."

Jack nodded, taking the portfolio from her hands, setting it aside, and then pulling her up with him.

"I know. I'm sorry to get worked up. I'm just still not used to everything myself."

"I could tell, Jack." She raised an eyebrow. "Or did you think I wouldn't notice that you had never slept in your own bed?"

He let out a sigh. "You miss nothing, do you?" he asked teasingly.

Rose stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "The sheets were brand new, and still pressed."

"You're right. I do think though that after last night, perhaps I can get used to the idea of having a bed; especially if I get to sleep next to such an angel."

Rose nodded, and leaned her forehead against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I missed you so much, Jack."

"Its over now, my Rose. Its all over." He kissed her hair.

"I certainly hope so," she mused.

After a moment, Jack pulled away.

"What do you say we go into town? Although I love seeing you lounge about in my clothing, we should probably get you something more suitable to wear, and perhaps something to eat as well?"

"Okay, Jack. I'd like that."


	13. Chapter 13

That night Rose found herself awake, tossing and turning. Jack had been asleep for hours, with his back to her, still exhausted from the past week of little to no rest. Not wanting to disturb him, Rose carefully climbed out of the bed, her new nightgown pooling around her bare feet as she stood.

Letting her feet guide her, she wandered through the house, in and out of rooms, not paying particular attention to her surroundings. She was too buried in her thoughts to much care where she was, but too restless to stay still.

Could it only have been a week ago that she had been living in the squalor of an inner city brothel? She bit her cheek bitterly. The past week had been difficult not only because of her illness, and all of the adjustments, both in location, and emotionally, but she had also been craving a drink like never before. Usually on late nights such as this when her mind refused to quiet, she had been able to silence it with alcohol or opiates. Now, though, she didn't dare. She didn't want to disappoint Jack, who still seemed to believe in her even though she felt beyond hope.

After a while, her feet found her on the front porch, where she sat down on the steps staring out across the dark street. In this part of town, electric lights still hadn't been installed on the roadways, so the streets were lit by the faint yellow glow of gas lamps, which were reflecting off of pavement slick with dew.

It was chilly out, but Rose felt numb, down to her bare toes touching the stone of the walkway. She knew she ought to return to bed before Jack awoke and began to worry, but she found that she still felt uncomfortable here, and not completely sure of herself around him, so there she sat.

Her past was eating at her; an internal storm brewing, and demanding a release. There was still so much that she hadn't faced: hadn't admitted to herself or anyone else, and now she could feel it all right beneath the surface. There were secrets she had kept locked away. There was shame, and hatred.

Silent tears began to roll down her cheeks, and as if on cue, Jack appeared beside her, taking a seat, and staring straight ahead into the night. Rose was grateful for his silence as much as his presence, and Jack could sense that right now, words could do nothing. Rose had to feel, and ride her emotions out.

A considerable amount of time passed, and finally the tears stopped flowing. Wordlessly, Jack reached up and the final tear from Rose's cheek with his thumb.

"Jack?" Rose's voice was hoarse.

"Mmm?" he responded quietly, taking her hand in his, warming it up.

"I've got a confession to make."

Jack stopped moving, apprehension written on his features, and Rose pushed on before she changed her mind.

"Jack, I wasn't entirely truthful with you last night."

"What do you mean, Rose?"

"When I told you about Cal, I left out something important that you need to know."

Jack's jaw tensed at the mention of Caledon Hockley, but he nodded for her to go on with what she had to say.

"Jack, I didn't mean for it to happen, but when Cal, um, when he… well," Rose was turning a sickly white now, worrying Jack further.

"When he _raped_ you?" Jack finished for her, knowing the difficulty she must have been having saying what it truly was.

Rose choked on a sob, and Jack moved to wrap an arm around her.

"Hey, Its okay," he said, rubbing her back soothingly. "Its alright, darling, its in the past. He can't hurt you now."

Rose tensed. "Its not alright, Jack. It will never be alright. I need you to know, but I'm afraid you'll hate me."

"I could never hate you, Rose." Jack turned her to face him, and looked her straight in the eyes. "I could never hate you, no matter what you have to tell me."

"Jack, I was pregnant," she got out in a rush.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

"You were what?" he asked, not sure he had heard her correctly. She looked away from him, feeling ashamed.

"I was pregnant when it happened, Jack, but Cal, he wouldn't believe me—kept calling me a lying slut, and told me I was only saying that to make him stop. It went on for months, well into the pregnancy, and I knew all along that it was your baby."

Rose was sobbing hard now, talking hysterically through her tears, and Jack had yet to move an inch.

"There was this one night," Rose shuddered violently, "the last night before I ran, the Cal was particularly angry and violent. Jack, I'm so so sorry. I tried to protect the baby, I did! But Cal, he could clearly see the pregnancy then, and… "

Rose's voice was swallowed by Jack's howl of rage, and she collapsed against him sobs wracking her body harder than ever.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I'm so so sorry."

Jack tried his best to calm himself for Rose's sake. He knew it wasn't her fault, but his rage toward Hockley was maddening. After a minute of breathing deep, he finally found the calm to speak.

"What happened, Rose? To the baby?"

Looking down at her, she now seemed hollow and vacant, her expression haunted and far away.

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I tried to save her."

_Her_. The word rang in Jack's ear, and he felt as if he would be sick. So, their one night of love upon the ship had created a daughter, who had lost her life before it even began? How was it that you could miss something you never had to begin with? _Someone_ you had never met? Tears began to roll down his face as well.

"Tell me what happened, Rose. Please. I need to know."

"Cal was in a frenzy that night. Honestly, I had grown accustomed to blocking what he was doing to me from my mind in order to get through it, but I know that he punched me in the abdomen, hard. I miscarried that night, Jack. There was so much blood. The next morning, I ran."

Jack had never felt such hatred in his life. He knew that if it weren't for the hurting creature next to him, he would have gone to track down Hockley right then, but he couldn't leave Rose. Not like this. Not ever.

Still feeling slightly sick himself, he turned Rose around in his arms to face him fully.

"Rose, you must never blame yourself, do you hear me?"

"How can you look at me, Jack? I lost our daughter."

"I can look at you because I love you. I will always love you, no matter what has happened, or what the future holds. I swear it. Now, I can't promise anything about Hockley if I ever see the bastard again, but I can promise you right now that you did nothing wrong. You tried to protect your baby—_our_ baby. And maybe things were supposed to happen this way for some reason? Ya know?"

"What do you mean, Jack? Are you saying I was supposed to be tortured and lose my child?" unbelief was written on Rose's features.

"No, Rose. That's not what I'm saying at all. All I'm saying is that maybe the universe knew that it wasn't right to have you bring a child into such a screwed up world right then. I don't know what'll happen in the future, but I do know if you had tried to have a child a year ago, I don't think either of you would have made it, and that you're still here with me now is a blessing."

Rose calmed down. Maybe Jack had a point. Maybe things did happen for a reason? It would never stop the pain and sorrow she felt for her unborn child, which was now mirrored on Jack's face, but he was right. A brothel was no place to raise a baby.

"Rose, I promise you, we'll get through all of this. We'll get past the sadness, and live; really live. "

"I hope you're right, Jack."

Jack stood, offering a hand to pull Rose up as well, and together the two climbed the stairs and returned to bed, cuddled close together. A while later, with Rose asleep on his chest, her conscience lighter, Jack shed his own silent tears into her hair for the child he had gained and lost all at once.


	14. Chapter 14

"Shit!"

Rose heard the sound of shattered glass, and a curse from Jack from where she stood in the kitchen attempting to make herself a cup of tea. Quickly, she abandoned the task, and made her way up the staircase, and into her bedroom, where she found Jack. She would have liked to think of it as their bedroom, but ever since she had told Jack about the baby she had lost, he had been distant, only coming up here to comfort her when she cried out in her sleep, rather than falling asleep next to her as he had been doing before. As the days wore on into weeks, Rose found herself increasingly lonely, despite the presence of the man she still felt infinite amounts of love and adoration for. That love now seemed somehow tainted, and she feared through Jack's stoicism that he had indeed ruined everything.

"Jack! Are you alright?"

He looked up from the large mirror, which had shattered into hundreds of shards upon the wood floor, startled, and ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

"I'm alright, Rose. Nothing to worry yourself about."

"Here, let me help you." Rose took a few steps forward, crouching down to brush the glass into a pile with her skirt. Jack was quickly down as well.

"No, Rose, I've got it." He reached over her arms, cutting off her access to the pile.

"Really, Jack. It's alright, I can manage," Rose began, but he cut her off.

"No, it's my mess. I'll clean it up. Go back to whatever it was you were doing, Rose."

He didn't mean for his words to be hurtful, but the tone of his voice was clipped, and struck Rose hard. Without thinking, she responded rather childishly.

"Fine. Its obvious that you have no care what it is that I do, so I'll leave you to yourself from now on."

Jack sighed, throwing down the shard of mirror. "Rose, you know that's not what I meant."

She bit her lip stubbornly, and stood up straighter. "No, Jack, I don't. I have no way of knowing what you mean anymore as you've barely looked at me or said two words to me in weeks, and you promised me you wouldn't stop loving me! At this point I'm pretty sure I could down your entire liquor cabinet, and you wouldn't even notice, as its already half gone, and since I know I haven't been drinking, then my only guess is that you have been."

Jack looked back down, mollified, and angry with himself. He never meant to hurt Rose. That was the last thing he'd ever want to do, and he had gone and done it again, but how could he ever explain all of the emotions going through him; all of the thoughts running constantly through his mind?

"You're right, Rose." Jack stood, and ran a hand through his hair again, brushing it back from his face, expression serious. "I haven't been paying much attention, and I apologize. And I feel like a damned hypocrite. It's wrong of me to criticize you for your vices when I've turned around and done the exact same thing. I just don't know what to think anymore. I don't know what to do."

"Let me help you, Jack. Please. Why can't you ever just accept help? I can understand you wanting to do simple tasks on your own, but you're completely shutting me out at this point."

"I'm so used to fixing everything with my own two hands. Its stupid, really, and I don't think I can explain it." He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands, defeated.

Rose sat as well. "Try me," she said, and reached for one of his hands, eyebrow raised in defiance.

"I guess—I guess it was something I was taught when I was young. My Pop always told me that while there will always be a certain amount of luck, a real man had to do everything and fix everything with the two hands he was given. If something went wrong, Pops would find a way to fix it; broken toys, broken bones, broken hearts. Thing is, Rose, I don't know how to fix this, no matter how much I want to be able to. I don't know how to fix what I did to you, and I don't know how to fix us. Not this time."

"What do you mean, what you did to me, Jack?"

Jack looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "All of this is my fault, Rose. It's my fault you got pregnant. I shouldn't have been so careless with you. And it's my fault that Cal was angry enough to hurt you. If you hadn't met me he wouldn't have been such a mad man. You would never have had a daughter to lose. You wouldn't know the terror I see in your eyes at night."

Rose turned to face Jack, taking both of his hands now. "Jack, you're right. You are being stupid. Its not your fault that I became pregnant; it takes two after all, and if anything I started it. You were a perfect gentleman. And Cal has always been a bastard. His anger, while you didn't help it, has always been a problem. He started beating on me long before we met, so perhaps some of my fears are more deep rooted than all that. I'm not afraid of what he did to me, Jack. I've accepted it. And I'm glad that our daughter wasn't born into such a cruel place. What haunts me most at night is the thought that I could end up back there; trapped again, suffocating in a world of unhappiness, and loneliness—the world that lead me to the back of that ship and to you. You save me time and time again, Jack. You're there when things get dark. All I ask is that you're there when things are light as well. I so want some happy days."

"Rose, I love you. I want to spend all of my days with you, but things are so messed up. I don't know what to do with everything. Its like we're living here pretending to be in this life, but neither of us are actually here."

"Jack, we're not going to fix everything overnight. I know that. But avoiding each other will never help. "

"I know, Rosebud," he said, using a nickname for the first time in weeks. "I'm just so terrified of losing you again; of you deciding you don't want to be with me. I guess I kind of froze up. I'm sorry."

"Jack, I know I was resistant to come here with you, but that's because I was afraid you would change your mind, and decide you didn't want me. Now that I'm here with you, I'd never leave. I can't just sit by hoping that one day we'll have a life together though. You told me we'd really live, and I'm still waiting for that to happen. I'll keep waiting, for you, but I can't wait forever, Jack. I can't stand back and do nothing any longer. You have to let me in, Jack. Let me in to that beautiful mind of yours."

Jack's hand reached up to cup Rose's face. "I'll try, Rose. We need to live. We need to get out of here, and go somewhere."

"Okay, Jack." Rose nodded, with a hint of a smile, and Jack suddenly got an excited glint in his eye.

"Fuck, Rose! What are we even doing here, huh? Why are we here in this big empty house, acting like an old bitter married couple who want nothing to do with eachother? Its horse shit. I'm 22, and you're nearly 20. We're young. We're in love. Why aren't we out on some wild adventure soaking in our youth?" He was standing now, gesturing grandly towards the picture window.

Rose laughed at his sudden antics, and foul language. This was the Jack that she loved, not the somber man she had found hunched over shattered glass. Perhaps he had shattered his dull reflection along with the mirror and come to his senses?

"Alright, Jack. We'll go, then. We'll head out for the horizon, and see where we end up."

From where Jack was standing, his eyes fell upon Rose, her hair lit by the afternoon sun in such a way that it was set into a golden red fire like a halo, and Jack couldn't help but smile. She credited him with saving her life, but she would never fully understand the ways in which she was able to save Jack as well. Overwhelmed with emotion, he took two strides forward, lifting Rose to him and capturing her lips for the first time in a month.

"Jack?"

"Yes, my angel?" he grinned down at her, enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms again.

"You said you're used to fixing things with your hands?"

Jack looked into her eyes, confused. "Yeah, Rose, what are you talking about?"

"Well, I've got something that maybe you could fix for me." Rose smiled coyly, and Jack caught on, playing along.

"And what would that be, Miss?" He leaned forward, kissing her neck hungrily, making Rose smile.

"I couldn't tell you, Mr. Dawson, but I could show you. Give me your hand."


	15. Chapter 15

Jack awoke with a yawn the next morning, and rolled onto his side to find Rose propped up on her elbow, looking down at him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, a smile playing across her face, reaching her hazel green eyes.

"Mornin'" Jack said, stifling another yawn, and rolling onto his stomach, draping an arm over Rose's waist in the process. "How long have you been awake?"

"A while," Rose responded, matter-of-factly.

Jack sighed. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because I've discovered something." Jack could hear the teasing in her tone of voice, and lifted his head to study her.

"And what's that?"

"I like watching you sleep," she responded sheepishly. "You look so peaceful and care-free; as if nothing bad has ever happened."

Jack scoffed, and Rose turned onto her back, lifting Jack's hand from her waist, playing with his fingers between her own. She smiled again, laugh lines crinkling attractively into the corners of her eyes. She loved Jack's hands. She loved the way his fingers seemed to fit perfectly between her own, and she loved the smooth expanse of his palms, and the rough calluses on his fingertips. She loved how they were both strong and gentle at the same time. She loved the beauty that they could create, and the way his touch made her feel safe and protected, loved and adored. He hadn't been himself the past few weeks, but then again, neither had she. Admittedly, she hadn't been herself for quite a while

"I'm not too pretty to look at, Rose. Not like you. I bet I make faces in my sleep, and snore."

Rose laughed. "Jack Dawson, you are the prettiest man I've ever seen. And you do snore, but I like that. It's a very masculine thing. It's comforting. It lets me know that you're right here next to me."

Jack laughed, and tickled Rose's stomach through her nightgown with his fingertips. "You think I'm pretty, huh?"

Rose grinned cheekily, struggling to keep in giggles. "Very."

Jack laughed and let out a huff of mock indignation, and Rose leaned up on one elbow again, looking at Jack, suddenly hoping that every morning could be like this.

"In all honesty, Jack, you're the most attractive man in the world to me." She looked him over, letting her eyes travel from his shaggy blonde locks, to stormy sea eyes, and over tanned cheeks to his perfect mouth, which was now set in a serious expression. Her eyes raked across the goatee of stubble on his chin, which she had grown to love, and down to strong shoulders, and a chiseled torso. A blush crept onto her cheeks, and not daring to think of the parts of him beneath his blankets and pants, she looked back up, his gaze catching hers.

"I believe you are blushing, mademoiselle," he joked, stirring pleasant memories.

"_I believe you are blushing, monsieur big artiste. I can't imagine monsieur Monet blushing."_

"_He does landscapes. Now hold still; no laughing."_

"I can't help it, Jack. It's what you do to me."

Jack leaned up again, capturing Rose's soft lips with his own, briefly, before settling onto his back.

"And you have no idea what you do to me, Rose."

Rose was quiet for a moment. Here they were again, insinuating things that neither had dared to explore since being reunited. On top of their emotional distance from one another, it had also been a kind of unspoken agreement that the time wasn't right for such physical intimacy.

Rose thought back to the night before. There had been heated kisses, but before anything could go further, Rose had pulled away, and Jack had shown his own reluctance. Rose had to admit that she was afraid of intimacy; not of Jack—the things Jack had done up to this point had been magical, and beautiful, and gentle, but after having experienced Cal's violence, she wasn't sure she could separate Jack's gentle patience from Cal's rough urgency in her mind.

Jack, too, had his own reservations. Despite Rose's claims that he wasn't at fault, he still felt that he hadn't been careful enough with her the first time; her first time, and that perhaps the night she had caught him at the punching bag was too soon as well. He hadn't even thought about the possibility of pregnancy aboard Titanic, and learning that he had both gained and lost a daughter had shaken him more than he would like to admit. He had never wanted to put Rose into such a position, and while Rose's miscarriage broke his heart, so too did the idea that she could have been abandoned, single and penniless with a child, and it would have been his fault. He was afraid that any sexual relations now could bring back bad memories and nightmares. The doctors had mentioned suppressed memories, and he was terrified that intercourse could unlock them just as she was starting to get better.

"Jack?" Rose's voice was trembling. "I—I want to go to the stars with you, but I'm so scared. I'm afraid I'll start remembering Cal, when all I want are thoughts of you."

Jack wrapped his arm around Rose again, and kissed her forehead. "I know, Rosebud. I'm scared, too. I want so badly to be close to you, but I don't want to screw everything up. I could never forgive myself if I did."

"You won't mess anything up, Jack. Its Cal that's to blame. You've always been perfect towards me."

Jack nodded silently, refuting her last sentence in his head, and wondering if Caledon Hockley was even the slightest bit remorseful of the pain he had caused.

Rose took a deep breath.

"Jack, I want you to make love to me."

He turned to face her, startled by her sudden decision. "Rose," his voice was barely above a whisper, "Are you sure that's the best idea?"

"We said we'd live and enjoy our youth, Jack, and right now I can't think of a better way to stick it to Hockley than give ourselves a shot at being happy, and being together like a man and woman should be. I want you, Jack. I want all of you."

Rose was smiling, but still looked apprehensive. Jack raised himself up on his elbows, looking directly into her eyes.

"Rosie, as much as I want to, and believe me, I do, I don't think right now is the right time, but when we do this I'm gonna need you with me the entire time, okay? I'm gonna need you to know its me. And if you feel uncomfortable at all, even for the slightest second, you promise me you'll tell me to stop, okay?"

Rose bit her lip and gave a nod. "I promise, Jack."

Jack placed a hand on her cheek, still gazing deep into her eyes.

"I love you, Rose. I'm sorry I've been such an ass recently. Its just that I'm at as much of a loss as you are, and I've been so scared."

"I love you, too, Jack." Rose snuggled into Jack's side, laying her head on his chest. "What are you afraid of?"

Jack let out a sigh, and ran his fingers through her tangled red curls. "A lot of things. I'm afraid of hurting you, mostly… of doing something wrong. I'm afraid of settling down too soon. I'm afraid of missing out on opportunities. I'm afraid of how the war is going in Europe. I'm afraid that you'll relapse, and turn back to drinking or drugs. I'm afraid that my drinking will get worse. I'm afraid I'll let you down. I'm afraid that I'm not making you happy enough."

Rose lifted her head, half on top of Jack. "Neither of us can control some of that, but what we can, we'll help each other with, okay? You jump, I jump, or have you forgotten?"

Jack smiled, and kissed Rose's lips tenderly. "I could never forget."

Rose laid back down, and suddenly an idea occurred to her. She was learning more about Jack every day, but there was still a lot she didn't know, and things about her that he didn't know either.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?" he spoke into her hair.

"I want to learn things about you that I don't know yet. "

"Like what?" he asked.

"When's your birthday?"

Jack sat up in the large bed, pulling Rose into his lap. "October 16, 1892. Yours?

"March 21, 1894."

"So you're a spring rosebud? Born on the equinox. That's lucky."

Rose smiled. It was just something that Jack would say. "Are you very superstitious, Jack?"

"I guess you could say that."

The two stayed like that for most of the day, exchanging questions back and forth, making a game of it, both glad that they were talking again, and beginning to finally move forward.

**Hey, guys. Sorry I haven't said anything to you all yet, but I get so into writing that I end up wanting to post right away rather than putting anything at the beginning or end. I want to thank you all for nice reviews, and all of the subscribing. The reviews really make my time worth while. I'll try to keep posting regularly, but my second job is starting up, so I'm not sure how much free time I'll get, but please, keep reviewing, and tell me what you think!**


	16. Chapter 16

Rose nervously checked her appearance in the boudoir mirror for the third time within the past hour and gave a frustrated sigh as she attempted to mimic an old society hairstyle without avail. Suddenly Jack appeared at her back.

"Why are you fussing, Rose? You look beautiful."

"I'm not fussing."

Jack raised a misbelieving eyebrow, and tucked a stray curl into one of her hairpins.

"Calm down, darling. You look perfect. Who are you trying to impress tonight, anyway? You've already got all of my attention."

Rose sighed and grabbed her gloves off of the small table before turning to face Jack. He was handsome in his tailored suit and shiny shoes, hair slicked back, but Rose knew he wasn't comfortable. He would never be comfortable in clothes like this.

"I don't know, Jack. I'm just nervous. It has been so long since I've gone to anything like a formal dinner, and I want to make a good impression on all of your colleagues."

Jack took Rose's gloved hand and gave it a gentle kiss. "You will, rosebud. And if anyone has anything negative to say they can take it up with me. Let's get going. We shouldn't be late."

Truth be told, Jack was just as nervous about the evening as Rose. It would be his first public appearance without the guidance of Molly, and the first time his work was to be publicly praised. This dinner, to honor the hard work of the artists who had raised so much morale for the war which Jack himself thought to be a pointless waste of life, had been on the back of Jack's mind for months, and he just couldn't shake the bad feeling he had.

Jack pulled his clunking ford up to the ornate building, and he could have sword that he could feel the eyes of others on them. Allowing a valet to take the keys, he stepped around to the side, letting Rose out, and offering her his arm with a bit of exaggerated show, for her sake.

He leaned close to her ear before speaking. "With a war on, you'd think these people would care a little less about appearances."

Rose smirked.

"What do you say, 'Miss Dawson'? How about we give them a show?"

"Whatever you say, Jack."

As Jack escorted her into the building, Rose felt as if roles had suddenly switched. Jack was the one now pointing people out to her, explaining their occupations and whatnot. Before long they were being seated in a long ornate dining hall.

The first few courses went well. People spoke about the war, and the state of the country, and the importance of people's spirits, and Jack and Rose whispered beck and forth when they could without others taking notice. The highlights of the evening for Rose were getting the chance to see Molly again, and watching Jack blush with embarrassment as his work was praised.

As a whole, she had avoided talking as much as humanly possible, and avoided looking others in the eye even more; something Jack took notice of but decided to wait until later to address. Rose felt as if she were a different person even than she had been this morning. This social environment had thrown her back in time, and she found that she was truly uncomfortable. As stupid as the idea probably was, she felt as if she would turn a corner and stumble across Cal or really anyone else from the past which she so desperately wanted to escape.

It wasn't until the end of the evening however, once Rose and Jack were both thoroughly exhausted and aching to get into more comfortable clothing that anyone from the past did appear.

"Well, Dawson, I must say, you do have interesting taste in women."

Jack turned, his hand resting on Rose's lower back protectively, and found Mr. Campbell, one of the senior commissioners on the propaganda review board.

Jack inclined his head and waited for an explanation, not liking the expression on the older man's face. Next to him, he felt Rose grow tense.

"I meant of course that I had no idea burlesque girls went for hire, nowadays, for functions such as this."

Jack swallowed, hard. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"No insult to you, my fellow. It's just I would recognize this beauty anywhere." He reached a hand toward Rose's face, and she backed up a step.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to refrain from speaking of my wife in such a manner. I assure you, whom ever you think she is, you are mistaken. "

Jack looked down at Rose, whose face had gone pale as a sheet.

"Wife! Oh, what a joke this truly is, Dawson. Delightful! A whore of a wife no doubt. You must truly know how to pick them. Tell me, what is the going rate per wedding night?"

Becoming infuriated now, Jack took a step forward, pulling Rose slightly behind him. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to hold your tongue."

"My god, boy, you can't actually mean that you are truly married to this gutter trash, can you?" Mr. Campbell now regarded Jack disgustedly.

His voice had risen, attracting more attention, and Rose felt as if she might die of embarrassment behind Jack.

Molly, who had heard the commotion made her way over.

"What might the problem be, Mr. Campbell? Surely the young Dawson's here have done nothing wrong."

"Nothing wrong? Mrs. Brown, I have never met a worse pair of social dissenters in my life. I'll have you know that this man has gone off and wed a whore. I'll not have that within my company."

Molly's expression turned stern as she regarded the older man. "And what grounds have you for this accusation, Mr. Campbell?"

"What do you mean what grounds? I know this woman to be a fraternizing showgirl out of New York City. What other grounds do I need?"

"I see. And how have you come across this discovery, sir? Surely not through 'fraternization,' yourself? Because the way I see it, going whoring is no better than being a whore."

Mr. Campbell, now red in the face, stammered at Molly Brown's cool response. "Do you mean to insult me, Madam?"

"Are you insulted?" she asked, coyly.

"Quite, I should say. How dare you insinuate—"

"How dare I insinuate that you're the type of man to crawl through the dirty slums of New York when your bed gets cold? How dare you insinuate that this gentleman, and fine young woman be anything more than upstanding within such a setting. I'll have you know that these two are the closest of kin to me, and you will treat them with respect, sir."

The man looked between Molly, Jack, and Rose, stunned.

"Madam, I'll not have such a young man within my service."

Jack chimed in then his voice tense. "I quite agree, sir. Consider me unemployed. Now, if you'll excuse us," Jack nodded to Molly, "I would very much like to get my wife home, and warm, and away from such unnecessary scrutiny."


	17. Chapter 17

Rose was quiet as Jack drove the two hours home. She knew that Jack was likely just as upset as she was, but she could think of nothing to say to break the ice.

Finally, Jack parked the car. Without the roar of the engine, Rose's thoughts seemed to get so much louder. Before Jack could protest, she climbed out of the car on her own, announcing that she was going to change.

When Jack followed her upstairs at length, he found her struggling at the buttons and clasps at her back, her frustration clearly evident.

"Rose." Jack walked forward, but the redhead was clearly ignoring him, continuing to fight her way out of the fancy dress and up-do, a sob escaping her throat.

"Rose," Jack tried again, his voice more insistent. He took another step forward, and caught her hands at the base of her neck, moving them aside. "Let me help you, love."

Giving up, she let Jack her to undo all of the buttons, and remove her hair pins, leaving her clothed in silk bloomers and a corset—more imprisoning contraptions from her past. Suddenly, she felt as if she couldn't breathe, and the room began to spin. She leaned back heavily into Jack, gasping for as much air as she could push into her lungs.

Acting fast, Jack ripped at the lacing of the corset, loosening it quickly, and picked Rose up, propping her against the pillows on the bed.

"Rose, look at me." Jack put his hands gently on either side of her face, and leaned close, capturing her attention. "Its okay, Rose. You're home now. The night is over, and I'm here."

Slowly, her breathing evened out somewhat. She grasped at Jack's hands, still crying.

"I'm sorry, Rose. I'm so sorry. That shouldn't have happened. Mr. Campbell was out of bounds, and I should never have condoned that for as long as I did."

"I can't do this, Jack." Rose was choking through her tears now, trying to wipe at her nose with the back of her hand. Jack grabbed a handkerchief from the side table, dabbing at her face for her.

"Can't do what, Rosie?"

"I can't pretend to be part of that world anymore. I can't do it. I tried, and I just can't. I felt as if I were suffocating in that crowd, in that dress. I was being buried underneath all of those scrutinizing eyes. Jack, I was running from that life before, pushing away from it so hard. I can't go back now that I'm finally free of it all. Not after everything."

"I understand, Rose. I promise you, no more of it. No more parties, no more corsets, no more society. The way that man spoke about you, I could have punched him. Had it been a different place, I would have. Thank god for Molly's quick tongue."

Jack kicked off his shoes, and reached down to pull off Rose's heels, before moving behind the wardrobe door to quickly change into a pair of corduroys and a white short sleeved shirt.

Routing through the drawers, he then located Rose's favorite night gown; a soft lilac pattern which he also loved because it made her hair and eyes seem to shine even brighter. He handed it to her, and turned away, giving her privacy to change.

Once she had changed and climbed into bed, leaving her ornate dress in a heap on the floor, Jack settled next to her, combing his fingers through her wild hair.

"How did he know you?" Jack asked after a few minutes of silence had passed.

"Exactly how he said. When I danced for Madame, he was one of the men who often showed up weekly. After a while he began to ask after me, but as I told you, I didn't entertain any private customers. I believe this angered . He wouldn't let up. Honestly, if you hadn't found me, I'm not sure how much longer I would be able to fight off his advances."

"I see," said Jack, trying to quell his anger.

"Jack, the way you spoke to him was very diplomatic and professional. There was no need for you to lose your job over me."

Jack raised an eyebrow at Rose. "Yes there was. He insulted you. I'm not about to work for any man who would openly insult the woman I love."

Rose let out a stiff laugh. "And I thought chivalry was dead."

Jack laughed then. "Well, it made it easier that I loathe the job anyway, and for the first time in my life, have no need of the money. What I need right now is to be with you, not to be working."

A comfortable silence fell, and Rose snuggled into Jack, burying her nose in the crook of his neck.

It was she who broke the silence. "Why did you call me your wife, Jack?"

"When?"

"To . You told him not to insult your wife. I can only assume you meant me. Why did you do it?"

Jack shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Well, how else was I to explain the common last name? I wasn't about to rehash the past, and you can't very well be announced as a Dewitt-Bukater without capturing the attention of Hockley. "

"Oh." Rose felt somehow rejected, and looked away.

Jack, realizing his mistake hooked a finger under her chin so she would meet his eye again.

"Aww, Rose you don't think I wouldn't want to marry you, do 'ya?"

She looked away sheepishly.

"Petal, how many times do I have to say how much I love you before you believe me? Cause I do. So much. Nothing would make me happier than to be married to you, but only when it's the right time, okay?"

He leaned his face close to hers as she nodded, and he captured her lips in a slow gentle kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"This is how I belong, Rose. With you in my arms, and I intend to make sure that's how it is, every night possible, for as long as I live."


	18. Chapter 18

Jack was packing up drawings in his study, and Rose was reading by the fire when there was a sharp knock at the door the next day.

Jack went to answer it, a curious Rose poking her head out into the hall.

As soon as the door was opened, a red-faced Molly made her way into the foyer. Jack stayed where he was, looking bewildered.

"Well don't just stand there, Sonny, take a lady's coat."

Remembering himself, Jack took her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, as Molly found her own way into the sitting room where Rose was.

"Molly, it's not that I don't love your visits, but what are you doing here on such short, er, well, no notice?"

The older woman scoffed. "Always so full of tact, Jack."

He shrugged, and sat down next to Rose, whom Molly turned her attention to.

"How are you doing, hunny? I hope last night wasn't too hard on you."

Rose gave a polite smile. "I'll be alright."

Molly could see right through her façade, but was wise enough to pick her battles in the mean time.

"Anyway, Jack, I wanted to know if you were serious about quitting your work for the defense agency."

"Yes, Molly, I am serious about it. I will not work for a man who displays such gross disrespect towards women, Rose in particular."

Molly surveyed him for a moment before giving a curt nod. "You do realize however, Jack, that without the protection of this job you could be called to serve at any time."

Rose's head whipped around. "Is that true, Jack?"

Jack's expression grew grim. "I hadn't thought of that, but yes, I suppose it is true."

Rose drew in a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. He wasn't gone. He was still right here next to her—for the moment anyway.

Molly fidgeted awkwardly. "Jack, I know you want to be able to stay here and look after Rose, but don't you want to serve your country? Why not enlist and earn a higher rank before you're drafted and sent to front lines?"

Jack took a deep breath. "Its not that simple, Molly. I'm not staying to look after Rose. Rose is a fully capable woman. And why would I desire to serve a country that has never served me? I've lived on the streets, practically being trod on by the government. Why should I serve a government and a country that isn't willing to help every class of individual? I'm sorry, but I'll have to take my chances."

Molly sighed. "Well aren't you the progressive. I thought it'd be this way. I don't see much option then, unless you're willing to run. After that slight to last night you can bet you've been moved to the top of the list."

Rose's heart plummeted. No. She couldn't lose Jack again. Not wanting Molly to see her cry, she excused herself into the kitchen on the pretense of brewing some tea.

Sensing that Rose wished to collect herself in peace, Jack knew better than to follow.

"Molly, there are other reasons, other circumstances that protect me from being drafted, although I would rather explain it to Rose alone. All I am willing to say is that I am not physically capable of combat."

"What do you mean, Jack? You're a strong, healthy, capable young man."

Jack sighed, looking Molly in the eye. "On the outside, yes. That doesn't mean much."

Sensing to drop the topic, Molly changed the subject.

"That being the case, then, Jack you can be assured that Campbell will find some other way to get at you. Be careful what you do and say. He's a good man, until he's crossed, and then he's a terrible enemy. A lovely man that I med a few years ago was put into ruin by a bad editorial."

"I'll keep that in mind, Molly, thank you."

Rose reappeared at the doorway, visibly collected once again. "Molly, are you staying for supper?"

"Oh, no thank you, darling, I should be on my way."

She stood and gave the slight redhead a squeeze, before pulling Jack into a motherly embrace.

"You take care of her, Sonny." She gave him a pointed glance, and he knew he was in for a long conversation with Rose once she was out the door.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack walked to the window and gazed up at the sky; such a pristine blue. He willed some of its clarity to enter his now tiring mind. Why did everything have to be so difficult? He thought back to before the Titanic. Life, while not always comfortable, had seemed easy then when he had only himself to worry about.

"Jack. I don't want you to go. I can't lose you again."

The anguish in Rose's voice broke his heart, and he heaved a sigh, turning, and taking her into his arms.

She buried her face in his chest, tears coming of their own accord now, and he just stood, one had around her back, the other tangled in her hair.

"You're not going to lose me, love; Never again. I promise."

"How can you promise that, Jack? How can you be so sure? Its not up to you anymore."

Jack led Rose back to the couch, and pulled her onto his lap. He leaned his forehead against her shoulder and took a deep breath. His next admission would be hard. He had barely come to terms with it himself, and he had hoped to avoid any circumstance that would have forced him to tell Rose, to keep her from worry.

"Rose, even if I were called for duty I wouldn't have to go. I couldn't go. Not even if I wanted to. I would never pass the physical."

"What do you mean?" A look of confusion crossed her tear stained face.

"I didn't want to worry you. Darling, after I was pulled from the water that night, well—" he paused, searching for a better way to explain.

"Being exposed to the cold for that long caused some problems. I told you that I was unconscious for quite a while. What I didn't tell you was that the hours I spent half frozen to death had some repercussions."

He ran his fingers through her hair, trying, unconsciously to soothe himself.

"When I was little, I was never as fast as the other boys. I had difficulty breathing… the doctor called it asthma. Sometimes it can be outgrown, and with time and a lot of exercise I thought I had, but different circumstances can cause it to flare up- extreme temperatures being one of them. On top of that, the stress on my heart to keep beating that night caused a heart murmur. My body endured more stress in that water than it was ready for, and now my lungs aren't able to function as normally as they should."

"Should something be done?" Rose looked concerned.

"No. There's nothing that can be done. Don't worry your pretty head, Rose. Its nothing to be concerned over. I'll never be as fit as I once was, but I'm fine to keep living normally, until I'm much older, and by then it won't matter."

"Why didn't you tell me, Jack?"

"I didn't want you to worry. You need to focus on you, not on me, okay?"

"Is that the only reason?"

Rose's eyes bore into his, like they were reading his soul.

"How do you do it?" he asked, perplexed.

"Do what?"

"Always read my mind. You can always tell when I'm not telling a whole truth. How do you do it?"

"I don't know, Jack. But I wish you'd open up to me."

She stood then, walking to where Jack had stood by the window moments ago, looking for what, she wasn't sure. She felt so drained; so old. Surely this wasn't what you were supposed to feel like at 20. She wondered briefly if you could wish on clouds the same way you could the stars, but what she would wish for she wasn't sure. To change the past? No. But maybe answers.

"It's dumb." He said a few minutes later.

"What is?" she asked, without turning.

"My reasoning. I feel like less of a man now, and I didn't want you to see me that way."

Rose turned, catching Jack's forlorn expression. "You're right, Jack. That is absurd."

To the shock of Jack, Rose let out a laugh. "Jack, I could never think any less of you. If anything, knowing that you endured that water and still went in search of me makes me think more of you."

Jack sighed. "My father would have been heartbroken. He hated that I couldn't hold my own when I was little, even if we had an understanding. I knew that I was different from most kids bothered him if only a little bit. I feel like I can't be the man he would have wanted me to be. I can't be a man he would respect."

Rose crossed the living room floor again, sitting herself back on his lap, this time facing him, one knee on either side of his hips, her fingers pushing his shaggy blonde hair from his forehead.

"Oh, Jack. You're a man. You're more of a man than most, just because of what you believe. Weaker lungs don't matter. They just show that you fought hard for something you believed in."

Jack couldn't hold himself back anymore. This wonderfully perfect woman in front of him could detangle his thoughts so easily, and at the end of that thread he realized how much he needed her—perhaps more-so than she needed him. In every way.

In a sudden motion, he captured her lips in a kiss more passionate than he had dared give her in months, the very feel of his tongue brushing against hers caused a light moan from Rose, and he pulled her to him more tightly, very suddenly needing to feel close—needing to feel her body flush against his.

"I love you, Rose." He broke the kiss, his lips moving to her ear and then down to her neck making her gasp as he gently nipped at her skin, sucking lightly on the nape of her neck before seeking out her lips again.

As his kisses continued, Rose found that she could no longer control her body, which seemed to know what it wanted before she did. She broke the kiss, panting.

"Jack." Her voice was breathy. "Make love to me, Jack."

His eyes snapped to hers, searching. "Are you sure, Rose?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

Jack's eyes still searched hers, looking for any sign of fear or reluctance. "I need to hear you say it. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Jack."


	20. Chapter 20

In one motion, Jack stood, and laid Rose down softly on the couch, causing a surprised laugh to escape her gorgeous pout before she fell quiet. He looked down on her, breath baited. He was terrified, but wanted so badly to feel close to Rose again—to feel as he had felt with her in that Renault two years ago, when being with Rose felt infinite, and like the next great and wonderful adventure, rather than a plunge into a cold and scary unknown.

Slowly, Rose stood, and turned around, silently beckoning Jack to help her with the buttons of her dress. Jack undid the buttons one at a time, letting his thumbs trace the ridges of her spine from her neck to the small of her back before he pushed the dress from her shoulders. There was a crescent of a scar he had never noticed just under her shoulder blades, and he planted a kiss there, his breath lingering.

Rose turned in his arms, and Jack closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. He had never been this nervous about making love to a woman before; not even Rose their first time. His heart was pounding a mile a minute.

Rose reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Jack. Look at me, please."

He obeyed, opening his eyes to hers. The green was intense and searching. She could sense his fear, and yet it seemed that she felt none of it.

"Jack, I trust you."

Up to that moment, Jack thought, he had never needed to hear any words more in his life. He nodded, and swallowed hard. Rose reached around his shoulders and slid the straps of his suspenders down to his waist, and deftly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it until it was un-tucked. Jack shrugged out of it, and wrapped his strong arms around Rose's bare waist, lifting her once again, and laying her onto the couch before settling on top of her.

Rose's breath was coming fast now from anticipation, as Jack's lips lingered above hers. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she closed the distance between them, her lips locking passionately with his.

Becoming more aroused by the minute, Jack moved to kiss his way down her neck, his hands finding their way to her breasts.

"Jack, please." Rose was gasping, her need for him was so strong. When she began to tug at his belt, Jack stood, quickly removing his pants before settling himself between her legs.

Rose could feel him pressing against her, but he held himself back, searching out her eyes once more. He had to be sure.

"I trust you, Jack."

That's all he needed to hear. Ever so gently, he lowered himself into her, and waited for her body to adjust to his, his manhood throbbing at the wanted contact. He kissed her forehead, and then her lips.

"Are you okay?" Hurting her was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

She nodded, closing her eyes. Jack stayed still.

"Are you with me, Rose?" "I'm here, Jack. I'm okay."

He nodded, kissing her once more, lovingly, before slowly pulling out and pushing back in.

He continued this slow pace, relishing Rose's deep moans and sighs, until she urged him to go faster, her body moving with his.

Jack let his hand slide from around her shoulders to her pleasure spot in between their bodies, massaging there as they continued their movements, his other hand tangling in her hair, as her fingers dug little crescents of his own into his back.

After a few more moments Jack felt Rose's body stiffen, and her movements became less controlled, and more erratic. Knowing she was getting close to the end, he quickened his pace further, locking his lips with hers as his climax built as well. She released with a cry of his name more beautiful than he had ever heard, as her nails drew blood from his back. A minute later he collapsed into the hollow of her shoulder, body rocking with the aftermath.

Jack was exhausted, and exalted, both. Breathing still heavy, he peppered her jaw with open mouth kisses, tasting the salty sweat of her body mixing with his own.

"I love you, Rose. I'll never let go of that. I promise."

She kissed his forehead as he laid his cheek on her chest. "I'll never let go, Jack."

Jack pulled out, and repositioned himself next to Rose on the couch before pulling a blanket down around them both, and wrapping her in a protective embrace.

Before slipping into sleep as the sun set beneath the clouds, Rose noted that the blanket he had draped over the both of them was the same blanket that had saved Jack's life, and in turn, Jack had saved hers. Perhaps the sinking of Titanic wasn't the curse she often regarded it to be; a thing in her past which so poignantly marred her life. Perhaps it was a hidden blessing—the catalyst into the darkness that is needed to bring light. She would have to think on it more later, because for right now her eyelids felt as heavy as lead weights, and the rhythm of Jack's breathing was lulling her to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Jack awoke in the early morning, his anxiety running high from a recurring nightmare to find that Rose had gotten up before him. He could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen, so sitting up and pulling on his pants, he followed his nose.

From the kitchen he could see Rose sitting on the back porch swing. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, and her curls, regaining some of their luster now, were blowing softly around the back of her neck. Jack poured himself a cup of coffee, adding some milk, and pushed through the screen door to join her.

The day was warm for early march; warm enough for the back porch to be enjoyable. The sun was just beginning to peek above the trees, and the birds were starting to make noise. Rose, with her eyes closed contentedly hadn't yet noticed Jack, so carefully setting down his mug on the small wooden table next to the swing, he moved behind her and gently massaged her neck.

She smiled warmly, eyes still closed. "Good morning, Jack."

"Good morning, Love." He quickly kissed her lips.

Grabbing his mug, he moved around the swing to settle in next to her, rocking it a bit.

Some time passed in silence, the two of them enjoying the morning. Jack lit a cigarette, and leaned back, stretching his other arm over Rose's shoulder. After a while, Rose spoke, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"What are you thinking, Jack?

He didn't answer right away. What was he thinking? He was thinking about how nice the day was. He was thinking about the way the light was hitting the trees. He was thinking about how the wind was playfully tugging at Rose's curls, and how beautiful she looked in his old shirt. He was thinking about how good everything was, and conversely, how bad things have been. He was thinking about Titanic, and everyone that perished. He was thinking about Fabrizio and Tommy, and little Cora. He was thinking about the daughter he would never know. He was thinking of hospitals, and whores' hovels; of absinthe bottles smashing against dirty walls, and of bruises and scars and sunken eyes. He was thinking of dirty politicians, and of Caledon Hockley.

"Are you okay, Rose? With everything that happened last night?"

"I am, Jack. I was scared. Afraid that it would bring back the past, but it didn't. I'm okay. I'm maybe a little sore, but I'm alright."

"Good. I never want to hurt you, Rose. Ever."

"I know, Jack."

"Rose?" Jack queried, hesitantly. He had had an idea eating away at the back of his mind for a while, but was wary of bring it up. Perhaps now though, with quitting his work, and Rose starting to adjust to this new way of life, it was time to consider it.

"Yes, Jack?"

"There's something I want to do… Something I have to do. Only, I don't want to go alone."

"What's that, Jack?"

"I need to go home. I need to see what's left of it. And I need to see Ma and Pop. I never saw their graves. I ran before the funeral. I promised Fabrizio back in Europe that I would go back home. I need to keep that promise. Would you go with me?"

"Jack, are you sure you would want me there?"

Jack kissed her forehead. "I don't think I can do it without you. I need to make peace with the past, Rose. Once I do that, then I know I can truly move forward with you."

"I understand, Jack. I've actually been thinking about making my own kind of peace. You said my mother lives with Molly now?"

Jack nodded.

"I would like to see her."

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	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"I'll be outside in the garden, if you need me, alright Rose?"

Rose nodded, and took a deep breath, setting her shoulders back in a way that made her appear more confident than she felt right now. "Okay, Jack."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

Rose looked back at Jack, mouth set in a determined line. "I'm sure, Jack. I'll be all right. I think this is something I need to do alone.

Jack nodded in understanding, and waited until Rose walked purposefully through the double oak doors that lead to Molly's sitting room before turning and walking outside.

The room Rose entered was large and ornate, yet cozy at the same time. The walls were lined with books and oddities from around the world, and the furniture was shining mahogany, the chairs upholstered with chintz and brocade. It reminded her of her childhood home; it was so very different from what she was used to now.

In the center of the room, seated stiffly in an upright chair was another fixture from her childhood: her mother. Even from across the room Rose could tell that the past several years had taken their toll on her. Her hair was beginning to turn white, and her wrinkles were more pronounced. Age spots were forming on her face and hands, and there next to the chair was propped an oak cane, which her mother grabbed for awkwardly.

As if to save her mother from the burden of standing up, Rose crossed the room quickly, and seated herself on a nearby sofa, ignoring the decorum she would have paid attention to in her mothers presence just some two years ago. The older woman remained looking down at her hands on the cane.

Rose cleared her throat. "Hello, mother."

When Ruth finally looked up, she found, to her surprise that there were tears in the older woman's eyes. Rose though back through her life. Had she ever seen her mother cry? No. Not even at the loss of husband. The closest she had seen Ruth come to tears was on the Titanic after scolding Rose about the importance of her engagement to Cal.

_Do you want to see me working as a seamstress? Is that what you want? All our fine things scattered to the wind?_

The memory brought a frown to Rose's face more-so than the sight of her mother in tears.

"Rose." Ruth made as if to reach for her daughter's hand, but drew back.

Minutes passed without a word, and Rose sighed out of aggravation before making to stand up. "Perhaps this was a bad idea. I wanted to see you, but now I can't recall why. You know I'm alive, but that isn't going to change our situation so I'll just leave you be."

Ruth looked up quickly, hurt. As far as she knew, she had this one chance to make things right with her daughter and she was letting it slip by.

"Rose, please. Sit down. There are things you need to hear."

Hesitantly, Rose complied.

"You're stubborn, Rose."

"Is this supposed to be some sort of apology, mother, because I don't—"

"Let me finish, please." There was the stern look she knew so well.

"You're stubborn. You inherited that from me, I'm afraid, and I owe you an apology. Actually, several. I admit now that I was in the wrong. I should never have forced you in to that arrangement with Cal. Not without giving you time to consent on your own. I learned his true nature too late, and I am truly sorry."

Ruth looked up from her hands to find Rose's gaze piercing, stirring up further remorse within the old woman. Rose only nodded for Ruth to continue.

"After your father died, I panicked. I know I kept a tight leash on you as a child, and I should not have been so uptight, but I knew there was no money. I wanted you to have a secure future. I wanted you healthy and ultimately happy. I thought the Hockleys were the key to that, and I never paused to ask you what it was that you wanted. I never took the time to get to know you, my daughter, as your own woman, and that is my biggest regret. Watching you turn your back on me for, for Jack, on that ship… that broke my heart. It changed me. It made me realize all of my mistakes with you. I was never a good mother, and I know that I cannot change the past, but if you would only consider letting me be a part of your future…"

Ruth's eyes were full of tears again, and Rose, although still angry, regarded her mother differently than she ever had before. Ruth was frail, and sitting in that overly large chair, with tears streaming down her wrinkled face, she seemed small; she was no longer the intimidating figure of Rose's memory. As she stared at this small person, her own tears came.

"I would like to forgive you for everything, mother, but I'm not sure if I can. "

Ruth nodded, sadly. "I don't ask for forgiveness. I know, with all of the pain I have caused you over the years, forgiveness is not within my rights. All I ask is that you will allow me to be a part of your life for as long as I can be, and for the chance to try and make things up to you if I can."

Rose breathed in deeply. "Mother, If I'm to let you back in to my life you have to understand that I no longer live in the same manner. I will no longer follow decorum, nor will I be expected to, and that is something you have to live with. I will conduct my life the way I want to, and you will no longer have a say."

Rose knew her words were hurtful, but she didn't' care. They needed to be said. "I am going to live with Jack for what I foresee being the rest of my life, regardless of scandal, or not. I will not be brought back into the fold of society."

She waited, expecting protest, but only received a nod.

Her mother laid a hand on her knee. "I owe you an apology in regards to Jack as well—for the way I treated him in the past, and the way I spoke of him. I was too prejudiced to see him clearly to what he was to you. And I owe him a great debt."

Rose looked straight into her mother's eyes now, bewildered at this change in attitude.

"Rose, Jack never stopped looking for you. Day and night he was on your case, always following some new lead or another, and if it hadn't been for him and his persistence that it would have been what you would have wanted, I would have never found a home here with Molly. I would still be on the streets."

Rose's eyebrows raised in surprise, and Ruth took note.

"Rose, on the Titanic, I had forgotten what it was to love. Or I didn't want to see. I wanted so badly to believe that you had found love with Cal that I pushed away any possibility for your unhappiness." Ruth took a deep breath.

"Jack told me how you met. When it still seemed a dismal hope that we would ever find you again, he told me the real story. If I had known then the misery that you felt; that you would have rather thrown yourself off of the ship than go through with the marriage, I would have never acted the way I did. I wouldn't have been happy, but I would have relented, because you are my daughter, and even though I am terrible at showing it, I love you, and I only want you to be safe and happy."

Rose choked on a sob, and moved her hand on top of her mother's.

"Do you realize, mother, that that's the first time you've ever said that to me? That you love me?"

Ruth let a breath escape her lips. "I am truly sorry, Rose. For every pain I have ever caused you."

Rose closed her eyes for a minute, took a deep breath, and then stood.

"It's going to take time for me to process everything, mother, and I will do my best to try and forgive you over time. I cannot promise to be very present, but at least now we're back in each other's lives and we can both start to move forward."

Ruth gave a small smile, and stood shakily, leaning on her cane for support.

"That's all I ask, Rose. Let me see you out."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I don't want you to strain yourself because of me. I'll only go and find Jack, and head home, but we'll be back around."

Her mother grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze and looked into her face as if committing it to memory. "Thank you, Rose. For giving me the opportunity to get everything off my chest."

With a nod, Rose turned and headed out the double doors, and through then entry hall of Molly's mansion to the front gardens, where she found Jack seated on a stone bench with a pad of paper on his lap. At seeing her approach he set his drawing aside and stood.

Wordlessly, Rose let herself be drawn into his embrace, and let her tears fall onto his shoulder. She had expected tears, but what she hadn't expected was for them to be tears of relief.


End file.
